A Journey through Loss
by GoodShipSherlollipop
Summary: The year is 2027. Sherlock, Molly and their family must deal with the grief associated with losing a beloved family member. How will they cope, and how will their faith sustain them as they deal with their pain in the days leading up to the funeral? Despite the overall theme of loss, there are happier moments to be seen. (Part of my Journey series). See a/n for why I wrote this.
1. The Pain of Loss

**Author's note:** This story is the result of my own recent experience with acute loss when my beloved father-in-law went home unexpectedly to be with the Lord just over two months ago. He was ready to go but we weren't ready for him to go. However, God is good, and I wanted to honour the memory of my father-in-law by writing a story that contained elements from my real life experience in a way that would highlight how loss affects Christians differently from those who do not have a belief system. We don't say goodbye when a loved one and fellow believer passes away, we say, "See you later."

My father-in-law was a humble servant of Jesus Christ. He suffered daily from chronic pain, yet never complained. He was very active in our church, involved in almost every ministry and was a source of inspiration to his children and grandchildren. He was loved by so many people, not just family, and I can only hope to follow in his footsteps as a faithful servant of Jesus.

Despite the tears and heartache I and my family have been experiencing, we have a blessed hope as Christians. We believe and know we will see my dear father-in-law again one day. There is no comfort greater than holding that belief in our hearts. I hope that those of you who read this story can also know the love of Jesus and believe for yourselves that this is only our temporary home. It is a blip on the radar of eternity.

This is a story I never expected to write and it has meant putting a temporary halt to all of my other WIP's as I concentrated solely on completing it. May you be blessed by it and know that my heart has been poured into it. If this story touches you, please don't hesitate to respond to it. I would like to know that my efforts mean something to people, that my writing makes a positive difference to people's lives.

One final note: This story takes place in 2027, so it is quite some distance in the future of my one-universe version of Sherlock and Molly. Therefore, it does contain spoilers as you would expect, including showing the entire family unit that Sherlock and Molly have as well as that of John Watson. I hope that won't detract from your enjoyment of other stories that precede this timeline which I intend to publish in the future. There will obviously be some backstory for the intervening eight years that have passed as well which I hope you will enjoy. It means I have done a lot of research as usual to add realistic elements to the story.

Cover image by **Elizabeth Robello** \- thank you!

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**August 2027**

Sherlock and Molly were sitting together comfortably on the sofa following a busy day with their children who were now finally tucked into bed. Molly's head was leaning on his shoulder and she was startled upright when Sherlock's phone suddenly came to life on the table in front of them.

Sherlock picked up his phone and his brow furrowed when he saw the caller I.D. "Why is Mycroft calling at ten-thirty at night?" he muttered before pressing the screen to accept the call. Molly wondered if Mycroft was calling to change their plans for the following day to have dinner at his place with the Holmes parents. Her in-laws had arrived in London the previous day and were staying with Mycroft for a few days to discuss selling their house in Sussex in order to move closer to their family in London. Both of them were now ninety. Even with the assistance of their part-time housekeeper, Donna, things were getting too difficult for them to maintain a big property, understandably.

Molly watched as Sherlock's expression changed from one of annoyance to one of concern. "Where is he now? Should I come down and see him?"

A short pause as Sherlock listened to his brother's response. "Alright then, let me know as soon as you have news."

Molly looked at Sherlock enquiringly as he disconnected the call. "What's going on, honey?"

"It's my dad. Mycroft said he was having a lot of trouble with his breathing earlier this evening, so he took him to Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. He's now in the ICU there."

Molly pressed her hands to her mouth. William Holmes had been suffering with COPD for a number of years now, although it had only become a significant health issue in the past five years. He had been a smoker for many years and that had been determined as a major factor for the lung condition. In fact, when he had been diagnosed with the COPD soon after he turned seventy, that was when he had quit smoking once and for all, having already reduced his smoking frequency significantly in his later years to only two or three a day. Sherlock had confided to Molly that was also a major reason why he too had quit smoking only a few months before they had met at St. Bart's, and had been trying to wean himself off of the habit with nicotine patches. Molly secretly thought one of the reasons Mycroft and Sherlock had begun smoking in the first place was because they had grown up in a household with a smoker. Violet Holmes had told her how much she had always detested the smell of smoke and had insisted that the men smoke outside.

Both Holmes parents by now suffered from arthritis and used canes to walk around. But despite their infirmities, they both were always cheerful and uncomplaining, minds sharp as ever, which was a blessing.

Now, Molly, noting the troubled expression on Sherlock's face, asked, "Did you want to go to the hospital now and see your dad?"

Sherlock's lips pursed slightly as he answered. "Mycroft said he and Mummy are with Daddy and they would let us know what's going on when the doctors have finished examining him."

Molly took Sherlock's hand which was trembling slightly. "Alright then, we'll wait to hear from Mycroft. Would you like me to pray?"

Sherlock nodded mutely and squeezed her hand. She could see worry lines forming on his forehead and knew she would have to be strong for him if this was his father's time to depart earth and go into glory.

She closed her eyes. "Father God, you know our hearts. We pray for Sherlock's dad at this time, that he will not be in pain and will recover. You know what's best for him and I pray that he will be okay, but as your Word says, 'not my will, but yours.' His life is in your hands. Give us peace to know and understand that. In Jesus' name we pray, amen."

"Amen," echoed Sherlock and opened his eyes. "Thank you, sweetheart."

They sat for another half hour quietly, not talking, just waiting and holding one another. Molly felt her eyes growling heavy and could feel herself drifting off when the sound of the phone brought her back to full alertness once again.

Sherlock immediately snatched it up and pressed the screen to answer, saying without preamble, "Mummy? how's Daddy?" Apparently this time it was his mother calling. Again, Molly waited as Sherlock listened then said, "That's good; we'll come and see him tomorrow then."

There was another pause as he listened to his mother. "Yes, you get some sleep too. I'll see you in the morning," he said. "Give Daddy our love." Another short pause and then he said, "Goodnight."

Molly searched Sherlock's face as he put the phone down. He looked a little more hopeful. "He has been stabilised, and he told Mummy and Mycroft to go home and get some rest," he explained to her. "They are going home now. Mummy told me we should just go to the hospital and see Daddy tomorrow."

"Sounds like a good idea. At least with school holidays we don't need to worry about getting the children off to school so we can all visit him in the morning," responded Molly.

They headed upstairs, undressed in silence and got into bed. Molly held out her arms to Sherlock and he rested his head against her chest as she stroked his hair softly until he relaxed his rather tense posture and fell asleep. It was only then that she allowed herself to also sleep.

Molly was awakened from a sound sleep by the sound of the phone which Sherlock had placed on the charging stand on her bedside table. Her own phone lay dormant on the table itself. She looked blearily at the alarm clock. Only five-thirty. Picking up the ringing phone, she saw it was Sherlock's mother and her heart pounded with anxiety as she held out the phone and Sherlock took it from her, having also awakened at the sound. A call so early in the morning could not be good.

She strained to hear what was being said on the other end even as she watched Sherlock's face drain of all colour. "...cardiac arrest...going to pass...hospital now..."

Molly's eyes blurred with tears immediately as she caught the snatches of her mother-in-law's conversation and the sound of tears in her voice even as Sherlock threw back the duvet and got out of bed. "I'm on my way."

Molly immediately rose as well. "I'll wake the children."

Sherlock was throwing on his clothes in haste as he spoke in jerky sentences that sounded most unlike him. She could hear his voice choking on each phrase, "I'm taking the car now. No time to wait. Call a taxi for you and the kids."

"Of course," she assured him, blinking rapidly. She walked to him and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. "I love you. Drive safely."

He nodded and left the bedroom. Molly heard him taking the stairs two at a time in his haste even as she pulled out the first thing she could find from the wardrobe and dressed as well. As she dressed, she heard the sound of the car peeling away from the kerb.

Molly went downstairs with her phone and hurried to the fridge in the kitchen, on the door of which she always kept the number of the taxi company handy in case of an emergency. She quickly placed a call for pickup as soon as possible. She was assured that a taxi cab could be there within ten minutes due to the early hour. Then she dashed upstairs to the second floor to Victoria's room and turned on her light. She went over to her daughter's bed and shook her shoulder gently. "Get dressed please, now," she said urgently and her daughter opened her eyes, blinked a few times and sat up.

Victoria, always quick to assess situations asked, "What's happening Mummy? Why are you crying?"

"It's Grandpa. He's in the hospital and we need to go see him right now. Can you please get Christina up and help her get dressed for me while I wake your brothers? I need to get them up and dressed too. A taxi will be here in a few minutes."

She was proud of the way Victoria immediately responded, getting out of bed and going to her wardrobe for clothes even as Molly headed back down the stairs to the twins' room on the first floor.

She entered and turned on the light. "Noah, Scott, get up right now," she said urgently.

Scott merely turned over and away from her with a muffled "Umph."

Noah, however, opened his blue eyes and fixed them immediately on her. He sat up and rubbed his eyes briefly then asked, "Is it morning already?"

"It's very early, darling, but we need to go to the hospital right away and see Grandpa, he's very sick."

Even as Victoria had done, Noah got out of bed and began undoing his pyjama buttons as Molly focussed her attention on her other son and turned him around so she could start unbuttoning his pyjamas even while he tried to push her away. "Wanna sleep."

"No, Scott, you must get up now," said Molly desperately, forcing him to sit up and pulling the duvet down.

"Is Grandpa going to be with Jesus?" asked Noah, even as Scott reluctantly swung his legs over the side of the bed. For a five year old, Noah was particularly perceptive. On the last occasion when they had spoken to the Holmes grandparents via FaceTime shortly after their return from a family trip to DisneyWorld in Florida, he had commented to Molly that night, when she was helping him get ready for bed, that Grandpa did not look very well and was he going to die soon? Molly had responded that Grandpa was indeed quite elderly and not as strong as he once was, but that she hoped he would be with them for a little while longer. She had at that time secretly thought her father-in-law was not looking particularly well either. It was of course just her perception from looking at him via the iPad screen, but his face seemed more lined and his voice had not sounded as animated as it usually was when he was talking with his grandchildren. In fact, he had said goodbye early on and allowed Violet to listen to the excited narration of the children about their wonderful holiday in America.

Molly had not said anything to Sherlock about what Noah had said to her, but had merely mentioned to him when they were getting ready for bed later that same night that her father-in-law seemed a little more tired and frail than he had been when they had seen him a few months earlier. Sherlock had shrugged it off carelessly and Molly had felt he was deliberately not wanting to think about the possibility that his father might not be with them for much longer.

Now she responded to her son's question. "I...I think so." She could feel the tears still running down her cheeks, knowing from the snatches of conversation she had heard and the grief-stricken sound in her mother-in-law's voice that this was very likely the truth.

Hurriedly she pulled out clothes for the boys and helped them finish dressing even as she heard Victoria and Christina come downstairs and then appear at the door to their brothers' room. "We're ready, Mummy," said Victoria, walking over to Scott to tie his trainers for him.

Unbelievably, they were all ready by the time the taxi arrived.

As they rode, Victoria said, "Can we pray for Grandpa?"

"Of course we can," responded Molly, smiling at her oldest child. "Would you like to pray?" Victoria was already showing signs of maturity in her walk with God at nine years of age, even as Noah too was unusual in his understanding of Jesus.

"Yes, Mummy. Let's hold hands." The Holmes family did so and Victoria prayed, "Dear Jesus, we pray for Grandpa, that you will heal him. We love Grandpa and want him to get better but we know he has been tired lately. We would like him to stay here on earth with us, but we know that if he doesn't, he will be going to heaven and we will see him there one day. So, not our will but yours." Molly smiled through a fresh wave of tears at those words, words she and Sherlock had taught their children, that they should always accept God's will, even if it wasn't what they themselves wanted.

As Victoria finished with, "In Jesus' blessed name, amen," the rest of the family repeated the word that meant "so be it."

By this time, all of them were in various stages of distress, seeing their mother's tears. Christina was being stoic as usual, blinking back tears. Scott was sobbing and Noah and Victoria had silent tears running down their faces.

Molly's phone rang and she answered it. Without waiting for her to say anything, Sherlock said, "Intensive Care Unit is on the fifth floor. I'm on my way there now and will let them know you are coming."

"Thanks, honey," Molly responded and he rang off. She was pleased he had let her know where to go. She had never been to that particular hospital before and at least now she would know which way to immediately head when they got there.

After what seemed an interminable time, but was shorter than it would otherwise have been due to the early hour, they finally reached the hospital and got out. Molly ushered the children into the hospital and to the lifts, pressing the button for the fifth floor.

As soon as they exited the lift, a nurse came immediately towards them. "Mrs. Holmes?" she enquired.

"Yes," responded Molly.

"I'll take you where you need to go." She led Molly to a curtained area and pointed.

Molly lifted the curtain aside and the children preceded her, walking into the curtained-off small room. Mrs. Holmes was sitting next to the bed, with her hand resting on the covered hand of her husband whose eyes were closed. A plastic piece of tubing which was used to help with intubation was in his mouth. There was no monitor beeping with heart activity, no ventilator and Molly feared the worst.

Sherlock and Mycroft were both standing on the other side of the bed, hands clasped behind their backs. Mycroft looked sober; Sherlock on the other hand had an agonised look on his face. Mycroft's wife, Elizabeth, also stood a silent vigil beside her husband and her cheeks were damp.

Molly slipped into the seat beside her mother-in-law and hugged her even as the children crowded around their father.

Her unspoken question on whether William Holmes was still alive, although she was rather certain of the answer, was given by the elderly woman's words. "I can't believe he's gone."

Again, Molly's eyes filled with tears as she hugged her mother-in-law. The twins let out sobs and ran to their daddy even as Victoria went to Mycroft and let out her own sob as she put her arms around his waist. Molly noted that her brother-in-law accepted the embrace, resting his hand on his eldest niece's hair.

Christina stood alone, some distance away from everyone. Tears ran silently down her face. When Elizabeth went to comfort her, she pushed the older woman away and Molly knew her daughter was trying to process her grief in her own way. Strangely, Christina was the one who most reminded Molly of Sherlock even though she was Molly's mini-me. She was the analytical one. At seven, she was interested in all her father's detective work and showed a keen interest in all things scientific. She was curious, logical and tended to get moody rather than emotional when something upset her.

After a short while, everyone in the room changed positions, finding comfort in another person, offering hugs as they continued to grieve. Molly went to Sherlock and hugged him, looking at his haunted eyes as tears fell down his cheeks. "I should have come to see him last night. I never even got to say goodbye," he said softly, brokenly.

"Sweetheart, you know he loved you and he knew you loved him," she said in a low voice, even as the air was still punctuated by noises of sobbing and noses being blown. "Did your mother arrive in time before he...passed?"

Sherlock sniffed. "Actually I was here before she arrived with Mycroft and Elizabeth. A nurse told me my father went into respiratory failure which led to cardiac arrest. They tried to resuscitate him for an hour without success. They must have stopped working on him minutes after they called Mummy to tell her to get to the hospital."

Molly's own tears moistened the fabric of Sherlock's shirt as she hugged him even tighter.

Christina finally came over then and wrapped a little arm around both parents. "Why couldn't they save him, Daddy?" she demanded, letting go after a few seconds and wiping furiously at the tears on her cheeks.

Sherlock put a hand on the top of her head and expelled a deep breath, collecting himself. "Because it was time for him to go home and be with the Lord, poppet."

"They should have worked harder to save him," she insisted stubbornly.

Sherlock smoothed a hand down his daughter's hair. "Would you have wanted Grandpa to be in pain? Isn't it selfish for us to want him with us when he has no more pain in heaven?" Despite his words, Molly could see he was fighting the urge to break down completely himself.

She looked around and saw that the twins were being held, one by Elizabeth and the other by Mycroft. He looked a little uncomfortable but she appreciated he was making an effort with his nephew.

Victoria was sitting in the chair next to her grandmother, looking at her grandfather as silent tears coursed down her face.

As more tears of grief were shed and tissues used, each person, except Violet Holmes who retained her quiet vigil in the chair beside her husband, seemed to move from one relative to the next, mostly just holding one another, touching or stroking consolingly, reminiscing about the family member they had lost.

After a time, Molly went over to her mother-in-law. "Would you like me to call our pastor to visit with us for a short while?" Mrs. Holmes had met Pastor Briggs several times over the last few years. In fact, he had married Sherlock and herself ten years earlier.

"Thank you, dear," responded Violet with a wan smile. "I would appreciate that very much."

Molly left the ICU to place the call. She thought how difficult this must be for Violet, who had been married to William for over sixty years. She herself did not know how she would cope if she ever lost Sherlock. It was a blessing Mycroft had forcibly retired him from any dangerous missions once he had become engaged to Molly. Detective work had its own dangers, but not nearly as many as those encountered on MI6 missions that Sherlock had at times been involved with in previous years. In fact, the last MI6 mission Sherlock had been involved with had been the highly classified one where he had spent two years away from London and worked to dismantle the network of James Moriarty. Because Sherlock had been officially dead at the time, only a few people even knew that her husband had been instrumental in the success of that mission.

She called Pastor Briggs and he told her he would be there within the hour. She also took the opportunity to call John who was understandably shocked and immediately offered to let others know of the sad news. "If there's anything Kayla and I can do for you, name it," he told her.

"Thanks, John," responded Molly. "For now I think we just need to grieve but I'm sure Sherlock will be glad to have your support when he needs it."

She had just hung up and was returning to the ICU when Mycroft passed her. At her enquiring look he said, "Just going to call Mark. I'm sure he will want to say goodbye to his grandfather. I also need to let Eurus know."

Molly nodded. It was fortunate that Mark now lived in London and worked in a junior position under Mycroft's purview. Eurus was some distance away in the psychiatric institution she had been moved to after Sherrinford. Although she would never be able to leave, she was no longer the dangerous woman she once had been, thanks to the medication that had controlled her psychotic tendencies for several years now.

As Molly walked, she thought with regret that the last time she and the family had seen William Holmes in person had been when she had planned a surprise 50th birthday celebration at Angelo's for Sherlock at the end of April. It had also given the Holmes grandparents a chance to bring gifts for the recently-turned-five twins and an early birthday present for Victoria as well.

If not for their trip to DisneyWorld in July, Sherlock, Molly and their children would have headed down to Sussex for their usual week-long holiday each summer with Sherlock's parents. Molly sighed as she thought of it, but she knew they could not have possibly foreseen future events and at the very least, Sherlock's birthday had been an occasion where William Holmes had had the opportunity to celebrate the milestone with them.

William Holmes had delighted in his grandchildren as well, just as his wife did. He had loved hearing Victoria and Christiana in their violin-playing efforts; the twins when they would jump on him and give him hugs. Molly felt as if he was just the way her own father would have been if he had lived to see his own grandchildren. For a moment, she felt a brief wash of sorrow over that long ago loss. Time had certainly lessened the pain of loss there, but she still had moments when she thought about her dad and missed him, wishing he could have been with her for longer. She knew he was in heaven though and believed he was able to see how her life had turned out.

It was all so surreal, Molly thought, thinking of William Holmes now in the past tense, just like her own father, knowing he would not be there to see any more milestones in the lives of his grandchildren.

_But I was blessed to know him for over ten years and that he lived long enough to meet and spend time with each of his grandchildren,_ she thought. They all had precious memories that would remain in their hearts, many photographs, and other special moments, mostly from Christmases together, permanently recorded on video.

Molly reached the curtained area once again. She took a deep calming breath before pushing the curtain aside to re-join her family.

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**Author's note:** I know, this is definitely not my usual start to a story is it?

Now that you have become privy to the future I have long had in mind for my characters and their family, what do you think? You will get to see a lot more of the Holmes children. The DisneyWorld trip Molly thinks about is actually chronicled in a story I began writing in March of last year. It is still unfinished but due to that story, I was able to draw on my own template for this future timeline. I hope to finish and publish that one next year, but this is the story I felt I had to do next, even if it is full of spoilers for my one-universe characters.

If you are intrigued by the start to this rather unusual story, please hit that follow/favourite button and of course, I always look forward to any reviews someone might be kind enough to offer to me.

Thank you to those of you who are already followers of my stories in general who have offered your prayer support to me over the past two months in both my real life journey of loss as well as expressing your encouragement to me in writing this story.

Finally, I do have to also offer my thanks to Wandering Soprano, who is my go-to source for all things British. She has been invaluable throughout the period I've spent writing this, answering my many questions on various aspects of the story to try and keep it as authentic as possible. I will probably mention her in other chapters where she offered help on specific parts of the story. Thanks, my friend!


	2. The Process of Loss

Sherlock felt as if he were in a nightmare from which he could not awaken.

He watched through eyes dulled and reddened from tears as Molly slipped through the curtain that separated the bereaved family from the rest of the world.

Grief continued to swirl around the edges of his consciousness as he surveyed the room and its occupants. His mother had not moved from her position once.

For the first time he truly understood the pain of loss in its entirety. He could still remember that night around fifteen years earlier when he had misidentified a woman's body as that of Irene Adler.

He had left the morgue wondering why death meant so little to him. Anguished sobs from behind the closed doors at the other end of the corridor had prompted him to say to Mycroft, "_Look at them; they all care so much. Do you ever wonder if there's something wrong with us?"_ He truly wanted to know why he was so unaffected at the sight of death.

He still remembered clearly as well his brother's response. "_All lives end; all hearts are broken. Caring is not an advantage, Sherlock."_

He'd felt some of the pain at last when Mary had died but this was different. He had passed into the exalted halls, dubious though the distinction, of those who had lost a parent. He knew instinctively that the only thing which could be more difficult would be the loss of a child or a spouse. He had a closer understanding now of how his parents must have felt when they believed Eurus to be dead. As for the loss of a spouse, he could not even imagine what it would be like to lose Molly and he knew his mother's own grief at losing her soulmate must be profound.

Eurus had spared him the emotional context of losing his own soulmate and he was grateful for that. Now, however, he could truly empathise with Molly over the loss of her father at such a young age, rather than just sympathise. Although his own father had been ninety, it had only been in the last ten years that he had fully appreciated his parents after so many years of feeling removed from sentiment for them. But he was truly thankful for those years as well, and he would treasure the memories he now held deep in his mind palace of cherished moments with his parents, especially in their interactions with his children.

His most recent memory of his parents was when they had come to London to be a part of the surprise birthday party Molly had organised for his 50th birthday. Sherlock had initially been a little disgruntled to have his birthday acknowledged in so public a manner. After all, 50 seemed like a rather large number, half a century, and he was a little concerned he might undergo some teasing about it. But then he had realised he was actually the last male in his circle of friends to reach that age. Instead of teasing him, John and Greg had patted him on the back and welcomed him to the "50's club." Sherlock had actually enjoyed himself in the end and William Holmes had come up to him at one point to say how proud he was to be his father. How could he have known it would be the last time he would see his father face to face?

Despite Sherlock's sorrow, he knew it was a blessing that things had happened at this time. The children were on school holidays. If things had happened while the family had been in America it would have been truly devastating. Even so, it was difficult to process the fact that there would be no new memories to add to the mind palace room that contained his father.

Sherlock suddenly realised that the chair next to his mother was empty and he had not yet taken a turn to sit with her, so he did so.

As he sat, she looked at him with grief-stricken eyes. Her face bore the ravages of her tears and she looked older than he had ever seen her, as if she had aged ten years in the space of a couple hours. "We'll all miss him, Mummy." He gathered her in his arms and they wept silently together for a few moments before pulling apart and he clasped his mother's small, frail hand gently in his own.

A light touch on his arm caused him to look up to see Victoria. "Daddy, can I sit with Grandma again for a bit?" she asked. Her face too was streaked with tears although for the moment her eyes were dry.

"Of course, sweetheart." He rose and kissed his daughter's cheek, moving aside so she could take his vacated chair and rest her head against her grandmother's shoulder. Christina was once again standing off to the side, withdrawn into herself. The twins were sitting together on a wide armchair. Mycroft, who had been talking with his wife, left the room and Sherlock assumed he was going to tell his son what had happened.

Sherlock walked over to his younger daughter and put his arm around her. She didn't say anything but just slipped her arms around his waist and leaned against him.

He heard the sound of the curtain rustling and looked over as Molly reappeared in the doorway and their eyes locked. She came to stand beside him and Christina who gave her a brief hug and moved a little way away to stand alone once again.

Molly slipped her hand into Sherlock's and looked up at him. "Pastor Briggs is on his way. I hope you don't mind, but I also called John. He said if there's anything we need, to let him know,"

Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Thank you for doing that, sweetheart," he said quietly. "Did Mycroft pass you in the corridor?"

Molly nodded. "Yes. He said he was going to call Mark and Eurus."

Sherlock rubbed a weary hand across his eyes. Of course, Eurus. He was glad Mycroft would be the one to tell her. Despite how much his sister had improved over the last ten years, there were times when she would withdraw into herself for a day or two, almost as if she was trying to process things in her own mind palace as he did when it came to cases or other things he was puzzling through.

Mycroft returned and spoke quietly to his mother. Sherlock overheard him say something about the medical certificate of death. Aside from that, the silence was punctuated only by the occasional sniffle until, almost at the same time, Pastor Briggs and Mark arrived.

Once again seating positions were changed as Mark made his way to his grandmother and hugged her. Sherlock could see he was trying to be stoic, but failing miserably. He had not even known he had grandparents or that Mycroft was his father until his own mother's death in 2018. Sherlock realised the young man was as acquainted with grief as he himself was on this day, perhaps more-so, having lost his mother at the tender age of twenty.

Mark removed himself to Mycroft's side and the older man laid a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. Pastor Briggs, who had been patiently awaiting his turn, walked over to Violet Holmes and sat beside her. He spoke quietly, obviously words of comfort and assurance, as Sherlock's mother nodded and gave him a tremulous smile.

Molly walked over to the twins who stood and raised their arms for their mother. She sat on the armchair and pulled them both into her arms as if they were the babies they had once been, and Sherlock thought of how much they had grown since then. It seemed only yesterday he had been boasting to John about the way he had managed to produce not one, but two male Holmes children.

He still recalled the way John had teased him at the time with a "I thought you said '_It's never twins,'_ Sherlock," despite the fact that he had known for months that the Holmes family would be expanding by not one, but two.

John himself was content with his own brood of three children. John had also been a little disappointed that Sherlock had not given one of his sons the name John, especially after John had given his son Adam the middle name of Sherlock. When his next child arrived, another daughter, he had given her the name Johannah instead.

Sherlock briefly ruminated on the fact that the Watson children had only one set of grandparents, Kayla's parents. Technically speaking, Rosie had no blood-related grandparents but Sherlock had seen enough of Kayla's parents over the past few years at various gatherings to know that they doted on their step-granddaughter just as much as their two natural grandchildren.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted by the sight of a nurse entering and coming towards his mother. The pair spoke quietly and Sherlock heard the nurse say, "Of course."

The nurse left the room and reappeared minutes later. She had slipped on latex gloves and Sherlock watched as she removed the wedding ring from his father's finger and handed it to his mother.

That action served to spur a sob from Molly who had been quietly observing and tears once again filled Sherlock's eyes and ran down his cheeks; it was all so final.

Victoria, who had moved to stand with her sister and offer comfort, led the two of them to Sherlock and the girls put their arms around him and cried as well. Christina's tears were still silent while Victoria's sharp, shuddering breaths could be heard in the quietness of the room.

It was some minutes later when Pastor Briggs spoke up. He spoke words of calm assurance about William Holmes's faith. Sherlock knew the pastor had met his father on several occasions when the Holmes parents were visiting London and attended Sherlock and Molly's church with them. The two men had often engaged in lively spiritual discussions on those occasions. Pastor Briggs's words served to give Sherlock a measure of comfort even through his grief. He did know where his father was now, after all. It was just so difficult to process the fact that the man in the bed would no longer open his eyes, no longer tease Sherlock about being a "late bloomer" or wink at Molly about being strong enough to take his son on. He would no longer rock his grandchildren, cheer them on as they played the violin, exclaim enthusiastically over how clever all of his grandchildren were.

After Pastor Briggs had finished talking about the life and legacy of William Holmes, he asked them all to bow their heads in prayer. Sherlock took a quick peek at his brother and Elizabeth. Even they had their eyes closed respectfully. He closed his own and listened to the pastor pray for the peace that passes all understanding, for them to have assurance even through this time of mourning in knowing William Holmes was now whole and healed and in the arms of the Lord.

Soon after the prayer, Violet Holmes stood, indicating she was ready to leave. Arrangements would need to be made of course, and that would take some time. She bent over and kissed her husband's forehead. Sherlock watched as Molly got up, releasing the boys, and also took her turn, giving her father-in-law a final kiss also on the forehead.

Slowly the room emptied until Sherlock alone still lingered. He stood beside the bed and leaned over to whisper, "I'm sorry I neglected you for so many years, but I thank God I was given these final ten to truly appreciate you. I will do my best to uphold your beliefs and to continue your faithful service in the way I raise my children." He too bent forward to press a kiss to his father's cool forehead as a tear splashed onto the face of the man who had preceded him into the glory of God's presence.

With a deep, shuddering breath, Sherlock stood straight and exited the small room. The family was standing outside and Mycroft turned to him.

"I have already procured the medical certificate of death. Would you like to come and assist Mummy and myself in finding a funeral home and booking the church for the funeral?" his brother asked.

"Of course," responded Sherlock. He needed to be there for his mother now. If his loss was so acute, he couldn't comprehend how she must be feeling.

"Very well, you might as well come with us now back to my place," Mycroft informed him.

Sherlock nodded, and the family walked in a silence punctuated only by the occasional sniffle, until they reached the lift.

Upon reaching the ground floor, Sherlock fished his car keys out of his pocket and handed them to Molly, telling her where the car was located. He kissed her and the children goodbye and they went their separate ways. Molly offered to take Mark back to his flat and the young man asked if she would instead like him to come over for a while. Sherlock was glad to hear Molly accept the offer, it would definitely make things a little easier for her not to be alone with the children. He watched as Mark was surrounded by his younger cousins as they headed off to where Sherlock had informed Molly the car was parked.

Mycroft had already called for his driver and the black vehicle pulled up a few minutes later.

As soon as they arrived at Mycroft and Elizabeth's residence, she excused herself so that the men could be with their mother.

Violet also excused herself to use the toilet and Sherlock took the opportunity to ask Mycroft about their sister as they walked towards his sitting room.

"How did Eurus take the news?"

Mycroft gestured for Sherlock to sit before seating himself on the sofa. "Quite well actually. It is interesting how your influence over her has changed her. Her immediate reaction was to say, '_Daddy's in heaven now.'"_

Sherlock smiled. His sister had made good use of the Bible he and Molly had given her years earlier. She definitely had the head knowledge to understand things although he was not quite certain if it extended to heart knowledge. At the same time, she seemed very accepting and almost childlike in that acceptance so he felt that was a good sign. "I'm glad."

"She has also requested that we stream the funeral for her so she can watch it as well which should not be too difficult. I can have one of my people take care of that," continued Mycroft.

"That's good. I'm sure it would please Daddy that she can be there in a way." Sherlock twitched slightly after saying the words; it was difficult to think of his father in the past tense.

The brothers lapsed into silence until their mother returned.

The next few hours passed by in a blur for Sherlock. He was very grateful at Mycroft's organisational skills in determining all that needed to be done. He asked Sherlock's opinion on certain things as well as their mother's, but he took care of most things. He contacted the vicar of the church William and Violet Holmes attended to check availability for holding a funeral the following week and left his phone number with the secretary to receive a call back. A funeral home in Brighton was selected that would be the destination for William Holmes's body, and an appointment was set up for two days later to go over choosing a coffin and floral arrangements to be placed upon it. There was more, but Sherlock found himself tuning it out by the end. His mother too seemed content to leave most of the details to her organised son. For once, Sherlock was grateful to be the second son rather than the eldest.

Sherlock suddenly realised Mycroft had experience in this already to a degree. He had been the one to take care of the arrangements for Sherlock's own "funeral" about fifteen years earlier. He had also handled most of the details of Mary's funeral when John had been too grief-stricken to do much himself.

"Do you want me to come down to Brighton with you day after tomorrow already to talk to the funeral director?" Sherlock asked Mycroft once everything else had been settled.

"I do not believe that will be necessary unless you feel particularly keen to help choose the coffin and flower arrangements," Mycroft said in a kinder tone than usual. "I would suggest you remain with your family for now. Funerals usually take a few days to arrange."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "You arranged _my_ 'funeral' within five days of my supposed suicide," he pointed out.

Mycroft sighed. "I used my connections to speed up the paperwork and Molly prepared your certificate of death herself the same day. Also, there was no visitation for your body, obviously. Thanks to your fame or _infamy _due to Moriarty's machinations, it was easy to spread the word that there would be no public viewing. However, I shall do everything in my power to see that our father is laid to rest within ten days if at all possible." He looked at his mother. "I assume you would prefer that things proceed as quickly as possible?"

Violet Holmes nodded. "Thanks, Myc. I would prefer to see you father laid to rest sooner rather than later. I...I feel it will provide some closure. I also wish for us to have only a private viewing."

"Of course, Mummy," responded Mycroft, and Sherlock noted that for once he didn't reprimand her for using the shortened version of his name.

Violet Holmes then looked at Sherlock. "If John and his family wish to come for the funeral once the arrangements have been made, please let them know they can stay at the house the night before as well. They of course are like family and would be welcome also to be part of the private viewing."

Sherlock looked at his mother doubtfully. "Are you sure you will be up to having so many houseguests at once?"

"Of course," responded his mother promptly. "It will help me take my mind off things. Donna will help me to make sure things are ready for guests. I...I don't like the idea of being...alone." Her voice broke on the last words and tears filled her eyes once again.

Sherlock bent and wrapped his arms around the frail frame of his mother. Tears from a seemingly unending source pricked his own eyes. Mycroft too laid a hand on his mother's shoulder from behind.

"We're here for you, Mummy, and Elizabeth and I will be going with you back home day after tomorrow. You won't be alone. Tomorrow I will take care of registering the death. Once we hear back from the vicar with a funeral date I can prepare the obituary for the paper and online." He sounded matter-of-fact, as if he dealt with death every day and this wasn't his father he was talking about. Sherlock saw however the tightness in Mycroft's expression and knew it was a façade, that he was trying to keep himself together in front of their mother. There was a hint of moisture in his eyes that Sherlock could see as well.

Sherlock pulled back slightly and kissed his mother on the cheek. Mycroft Had arranged for his cook, Samantha, (known as Sammy to all except Mycroft and Sherlock who both preferred to not use nicknames for people), to provide some sandwiches for them for dinner. Sherlock wasn't really hungry, but he forced himself to eat something and Mycroft insisted that he take home extra wrapped packages of sandwiches for Molly and the children as well, which Sherlock also appreciated.

While Mycroft arranged to have him driven home, Sherlock called Molly and let her know that he had the sandwiches and was on his way. She in turn informed him that Mark was still there and that he had been a wonderful help with his cousins, helping to entertain them and keep their minds occupied with happier things.

As soon as Sherlock stepped through his front door, he was almost knocked over by his sons who had heard him inserting his key into the lock. He looked at them affectionately. If not for the sandwiches he was carrying, he would have rested a hand on each of their curly heads. Their eyes were still red and puffy but dry for the moment. He walked, flanked by the boys, into the large sitting room at the front of the house where the rest of his family was gathered.

Sherlock observed that every member shared the same features that heralded the fact they had all spent a lot of time crying. He himself knew he had never shed more tears than he had that day. The next opened _Cluedo_ game board on the coffee table showed that the family had been using games as a distraction from their sorrow. _Scrabble_ also peeked out from beneath the coffee table as did _Yahtzee_.

He looked over at the television to see that there was a home video playing, it was from the previous summer when they had been down in Sussex for their usual holiday week. He blinked back another wash of tears as his father appeared in the picture, looking so happy and _alive_. Things would never be that way again. It still seemed so surreal. Yes, his brain knew what had happened and yet his heart didn't want to believe it. The healing would come, he knew that, but it would take time.

"Uncle Mycroft brought sandwiches for everybody," he proclaimed, heading back out of the room to the rear of the house via way of the front passage and past the spacious, modernised kitchen and setting the wrapped sandwiches on the dining room table beyond the kitchen. The family followed his progress.

"Are there any cucumber sandwiches?" asked Christina, coming up to stand beside him. His second child was always ready to eat and she had recently developed a taste for cucumber sandwiches with salt on them. Apparently it was the salt that elevated the cucumber flavour to something both healthy _and _delicious, according to his daughter.

"Christina, my poppet, there are _always_ cucumber sandwiches when it comes to your uncle Mycroft. I don't know if Sammy adds salt to them, so you may have to do that yourself. There are also ham and cheese, egg mayonnaise and ham salad sandwiches."

Molly and Victoria went over to the kitchen area to retrieve plates for everyone and seeing that the family was sitting down and eating the simple meal while Sherlock poured orange juice for the children and made coffee for himself, Molly and Mark. He of course did not eat, having already done so at Mycroft's.

Mark entertained his cousins with some funny observations he had made of foreign dignitaries and their sometimes strange habits when he was overseas in his capacity as a diplomat for the country. He recounted a tale of one Chinese diplomat who made a great show of burping after eating. Apparently in that culture, burping was a perfectly acceptable way to express appreciation for a meal. This caused a few giggles and comments of, "Daddy, you would fit in well in China." Sherlock couldn't help feeling a little embarrassed at that. He did sometimes let out an audible burp at the dinner table after a good meal, or especially if he had been drinking a carbonated beverage, but he always excused himself afterwards. Even Molly would hold her hand over her mouth and burp occasionally. It was a natural bodily function and it wasn't like he did it in public, so he felt sure the children were just trying to embarrass him - successfully too.

Mark, who was sitting next to him, patted his shoulder affectionately. "Don't worry, Uncle Sherlock, we all do it. Burping at home is not the same as burping in public." He looked at his cousins. "I'll bet you all burp sometimes as well."

"Not when we have company," proclaimed Christina, as usual, the one who had an answer for everything.

Sherlock folded his arms. "And nor do I do so in public," he pointed out.

"That's right," proclaimed Molly loyally, "so no more teasing your father."

There were sheepish grins all around and Mark continued with some other funny stories.

Once the dinner was finished, Molly instructed the children to return to the sitting room with their cousin while she and Sherlock cleared away the plates.

Sherlock spoke to Molly quietly as they set about the task, letting her know that his mother, Mycroft, and Elizabeth were heading down to Sussex two days later. Mycroft would discuss sending the limo for them a couple days before the funeral, once the date had been arranged.

Molly put the last of the plates in the dishwasher and squeezed his hand. "How are you doing, sweetheart?" she asked gently.

He sighed, leaning against the counter. "As well as can be expected, I guess. If there's one thing this day has taught me, it is to never underestimate the pain of someone's loss." He looked at his wife and pulled her into a hug, whispering into her ear. "I'm sorry, I never understood before now just how devastating it must have been when you watched your father decline in front of your eyes and when you lost him so early in your own life."

Molly drew back slightly. "I know it doesn't seem like it at the moment, Sherlock, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. I still miss my dad even after twenty-nine years, but it's a bit like a scar that has been there for a very long time. The pain from the wound fades as does the look of it, and you only notice it is there every once in a while. But we both know that our dads are in heaven now." She gave him a little smile. "In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if they've already met and talked about how proud they are of us and their grandchildren."

Sherlock raised a hand to stroke her hair. "I like that idea."

"You know I'm here for you, honey. Anything you need, always," she told him earnestly and he felt blessed. He had his wife, his children. What more could a man ask?

"Thank you," he said, bending to press his lips against hers. Their lips clung together briefly and then they separated and returned to the sitting room.

Mark looked up as they entered. "I should probably get going," he told them regretfully. "I have a couple of things I need to take care of at work before taking the next few days off. I'm just so glad that I wasn't overseas when this happened."

"It was God's timing," said Molly simply and Mark nodded.

Sherlock knew his nephew didn't attend church regularly, but he definitely had a belief in God. Whether that extended to anything beyond that he wasn't sure, but he knew Mark had a good heart. It was a shame he hadn't yet found the right girl to settle down with. Being in a position where he had to leave the country so often had contributed to several failed relationships over the years. Mark also had a tendency to tease his uncle that he could never find the perfect woman, because nobody could meet his expectations when he placed them against the love and devotion shared by Sherlock and Molly.

"Do you want to come down to Sussex with us when Mycroft has finished making the arrangements? Or would you prefer to go with him?" questioned Sherlock, resting a hand on his nephew's shoulder. "I'm sure he wouldn't mind picking you up on the way."

"I think I'll ask Father to take me with him. That way I can be there to help Grandma as well." He brushed a hand over his eyes and blinked rapidly. "It's all so hard to deal with, isn't it? But I am grateful that I had a few years to get to know my grandparents. Before that I didn't even know I had them."

"I know that my father has loved you and been so proud of you, just as much as he was proud of my own children. Perhaps the way you came into our family was rather unorthodox, but I'm very glad you're part of it."

"Thanks, Uncle Sherlock," responded the younger man with a slight smile. "I'm glad I am too." Sherlock was suddenly reminded again that Mark had already suffered the premature loss of his mother which had precipitated the reveal that Mycroft was his father. He understood loss already in a way most people of his age didn't. That had been one of the reasons he and Molly were quite close, having lost a parent so early. In fact, due to that camaraderie, Mark had never been able to refer to Molly as his auntie because she was more of a friend.

"Would you like me to drive you home?" Sherlock asked his nephew.

"Nah, I'll just take a taxi. Be with your family. They need you," responded Mark.

Sherlock left the house with his nephew and waited until he saw him settled into a taxi, then returned inside.

The rest of the evening was spent fairly quietly, as the family shared their favourite memories about Grandpa Holmes until it was time to have baths and get ready for bed. Despite everything, there still seemed to be a sense of unreality about things. Even though Sherlock knew it wasn't a dream, he wanted to wake up from it anyway.

Once the children had been settled into bed with extra hugs and kisses and words of affection, Sherlock and Molly also showered then prepared for bed.

How strange it was, Sherlock thought as he climbed into bed to join his wife. The day had felt endless and yet they had made their way through it.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, and Molly moved to settle herself against him. "I love you, Sherlock," she said softly and he placed his arm around her, holding her securely against him. She leaned over to kiss his lips and then rested her hand lightly, comfortingly on his chest as her head lay on his shoulder. Memories drifted through Sherlock's mind and silent tears coursed down his cheeks once again but Molly said nothing, merely flexing her fingers across his chest to show her silent support.

Finally, his eyes closed and he was able to sleep.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, we have reached the end of the first day and I hope you liked seeing Sherlock's POV in this chapter as he tried to deal with his own grief.

Again I used real life experience to highlight some of the elements in this chapter. The removal of the wedding ring was something that broke all of our hearts when it was given to my mother-in-law.

I hope though you can still see the glimmer of hope and assurance as expressed by the pastor and can see the light that shines through the darkness when we hold the belief that life continues beyond death here.

If you are not familiar with the character of Mark, his introduction to my one-universe post TFP storyline can be found in _Another Holmes Family Christmas in Sussex._

I do need to let my readers know, please don't give up on this story in despair because it is so depressing. Hang in there, there's a long way to go and there will be some lighter and even funny moments as I continue to show you this glimpse into the future of the characters. You might even find yourself giggling at times. I hope you find yourself as invested in these characters as I am and that you will feel moved enough to hit the follow/favourite button and leave your feedback on it as well. Your support and encouragement is always appreciated.


	3. The Comfort of Friends

**Special Author's note:** Upon request from someone here, I am doing something unusual and asking for prayer. In America we are privileged as Christians to enjoy the freedom of practicing our beliefs without the threat of physical persecution (although there is definitely a lot of psychological persecution going on). Christians in the Middle East do not have this luxury and are being persecuted, tortured and killed for their faith.

* * *

Please look up an article from May in The Guardian called "Persecution of Christians coming close to genocide in Middle East". If you are a Christian, please pray for our brothers and sisters who are suffering and being killed for their faith. Even if you are not a Christian but follow a different faith system, remember, nobody is exempt from persecution for their beliefs when there are people out there who will try to force you to conform to what they believe and not allow you to have your own opinions.

Molly awoke to feel a weight pressing against her chest and she realised it was Sherlock's head. Their positions had obviously changed during the night. She could feel the dampness through her thin chemise and knew he must have woken at some point or cried in his sleep. It still filled her with so much sadness to see her husband's heart breaking in this way. He was a man who allowed himself to cry when he felt intense emotions, as she had discovered during their engagement ten years earlier, but those occasions were few and far between and she had never experienced Sherlock break down so completely in this way.

Molly stroked his curls absently and looked over at the alarm clock. At least it was early. It was unlikely the children would be up for another half hour or so, and Molly reflected on the situation further. She couldn't help fearing for Sherlock a little, that he might dig himself so deep into his sorrow that he would be tempted to find a method of distraction as he had done so many years earlier with his drug addiction. However, she sensed the fact that he was being so open with his grief was cathartic and would prevent him from doing anything he would regret later, not to mention his solid faith. Besides, he had a family and wife who loved him and she determined to make sure he always knew that.

Sherlock stirred and his eyes opened, their blue-green depths meeting her own brown ones. He sighed. "My dad is still gone, isn't he? It wasn't a dream, was it?"

"I'm sorry, Sherlock," responded Molly, placing a soft kiss against his forehead.

Sherlock looked down and a hand reached to touch her waist, then drifted to her abdomen. "Molly," he said unexpectedly, "do you think my dad will get to meet the baby we lost?"

She gave a faint smile and placed her hand over his. "From my interpretation of the Bible and belief that life starts at the moment of conception, yes, I believe our baby is up there already and we too will get to meet him or her one day." She thought a moment, then added, "Of course, I don't think our baby will be a baby in heaven though. Obviously we aren't going to look exactly the same as we do here, but the Bible does assure us we will know and recognise our loved ones anyway. I know that when my dad died it was a great comfort to know that I will see him again one day."

"I feel like I should be more grateful to have had my dad for fifty years," said Sherlock in a low voice, before looking up to meet Molly's gaze again. He blinked rapidly, obviously feeling overcome once again.

"Sherlock, it doesn't matter how old someone is when they are taken from you. The sense of loss is the same. Yes, I lost my dad very early, but I still ache just as much with the loss of your father as well. Having him in my life these past ten years has given me the opportunity to have an extra dad, and he never treated me as anything less than a daughter. It's going to take time to get used to knowing he is absent from our life here, but we will get through it. You have a loving family and a wonderful support system from our church friends and other friends as well."

Sherlock pulled himself up then to settle a gentle kiss on her lips. "It's times like this when I'm so grateful you helped show me the way to becoming a Christian. If I was still an atheist I don't know how I'd cope, thinking my dad is lost forever. Despite everything, I know where he is now and it does help, Molly, even if I'm feeling so weak at the moment. I guess my faith should be stronger."

Molly rested her forehead against his. "Grieving for your father doesn't mean a lack of faith, it's a natural process. You're allowed to be sad and heartbroken about it, that's our human nature. But at the end of it all, when we can look back on this time, I feel like this is one that relates to that _Footprints_ poem."

His lips quirked slightly. "You mean that when there's only one set of footprints in the sand, those are the times that the Lord carries us."

"Exactly," Molly responded.

Sherlock put his arms around her then and held her tightly, as if he never wanted to let go. She held him as well and they lay there quietly until the sound of another bedroom door opening alerted Molly to the fact that at least one of the children was awake.

Slowly, regretfully, she extricated herself from Sherlock's embrace. "You can stay in bed for a while if you like," she offered, sliding out of the bed and padding over to the wardrobe to find clothes for the day.

Sherlock sat up and thrust a hand through his unruly hair. "I might as well get up as well. I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway."

Molly perched back on the bed and looked at her husband. The sight of his bare chest still gave her a thrill, even after ten years of being able to enjoy the view whenever she so chose and to touch those planes that had softened just a little over the years. The additional fifteen pounds didn' detract at all from his masculinity though, nor his physical strength.

She reflected it was just as well he was between cases. It would have been difficult if he had needed to leave London while in the midst of an investigation. It was another sign of God's timing being just right.

Impulsively she moved closer to slip her arms around his waist. He looked so sad, so vulnerable. She hugged him tightly. "I love you so much, Sherlock."

"Love you too," he murmured against her hair.

Within half an hour the children were dressed and sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast. Breakfast was usually a rather jolly affair with various teasing of one another and talking about random things but today, unsurprisingly, it was a rather quiet, sombre affair.

"I miss Grandpa," announced Scott suddenly, and his lower lip trembled. A tear trickled down his cheek. One by one, the children began to cry also. It was strange how contagious crying was, Molly reflected, feeling tears prick her own eyes again. Sherlock too seemed to be struggling to hold it together.

Molly didn't know who to comfort first, so she went to her son who had made the announcement and knelt by his chair, reaching her hands out so he could burrow his face against her shoulder and sob.

She stroked his curls soothingly. "We all miss him, darling. We will always miss him. It's okay to cry. There's a verse in the Bible that says, 'Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.'"

The day continued in a similar fashion as the one before. There would be moments where everyone would seem to forget their sadness and laugh or reminisce over something, while at other times those remembrances would bring renewed tears.

Sherlock's phone rang at three o'clock. "Just a minute, Mycroft," he said, jerking his head at Molly to follow him out of the sitting room and back to the room with the dining table so she could hear the conversation without the children being present. They sat together at the table and he hit the speaker button then said, "You May continue. I put you on speaker so Molly can hear what is going on as well."

"Ah, very good," responded Mycroft. "Reverend Brown is available to do the service one week from today at eleven o'clock in the morning," he related. "He is going to send me an order of service. Would you like to choose appropriate readings? I can forward the email to you if you would like to take care of the service details. I know you are more familiar with what goes on in a church service."

"It would be my pleasure, Mycroft," responded Sherlock, glancing at Molly. She was glad he could make some contribution to the arrangements for his father's funeral.

"Excellent," proclaimed his brother. "I plan to take care of the obituary now so it can be in the paper tomorrow, and I will prepare an online one as well with details for the funeral service as I mentioned yesterday. Is there anything in particular you would like included in the obituary?"

Molly watched her husband as his brow furrowed before he said, "I would like you to include that he is now safe in the arms of Jesus. Our father knew his final destination and I want to make sure others are aware of it."

There was a brief silence on the other end and then Mycroft said, "I concur. I will make sure to add it. I may not be well acquainted with matters of a spiritual nature, but I know your faith and that of our parents is sincere. It is fitting that his beliefs be acknowledged."

Sherlock looked at Molly again and smiled. "There's still hope for you, big brother."

His smile widened and this time Molly gave him an answering one as his brother's voice said, "Perhaps."

After Mycroft had rung off, Molly slipped her arm through Sherlock's and they returned to the sitting room.

At around four o'clock, Molly's phone rang. She picked it up and answered, walking to the kitchen for privacy as she did so when she saw it was Kayla.

"Hi Molly," began her friend. "John told me about your father-in-law. I'm so sorry to hear about it. Look, I don't want to intrude on you during this time, but I prepared a chicken casserole for you and the family for dinner. I figured you wouldn't really be thinking about cooking right now. Could I drop it off in a little while? You can just pop it into the oven for about forty minutes to heat it through."

"Oh, Kayla, thank you so much," said Molly gratefully. It was true, she hadn't been thinking about dinner preparations at all. "Feel free to bring along the children, I'm sure my brood would be happy for the distraction." Then she added, "and John too, of course."

"Alright then. I was just saying to John earlier that it is a blessing he and Sherlock just finished a case a couple days ago and hadn't yet looked to find a new one," responded Kayla.

"I was thinking the same myself this morning," admitted Molly.

"Well, how about we head your way in about an hour then?" suggested Kayla.

"Sounds good. Thanks again and I'll see you soon," responded Molly before ringing off.

She returned to the sitting room where Sherlock was supervising a half-hearted game of _Cluedo_, keeping a watchful eye on both sons' cards to offer them advice.

"Guess who's coming over for a little while?" announced Molly, and the children all looked up with interest. Sherlock raised a questioning eyebrow.

"Who?" Christina posed the question.

"The Watsons! Auntie Kayla made us her special chicken casserole for dinner."

"Oh!" exclaimed Victoria. "I love that casserole! I haven't talked to Rosie in a few days either. I need to see if she finished _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix _yet so we can have a discussion about it."

Molly smiled at her eldest daughter. She was glad that the two girls were such close friends, despite being a year apart at school. They were both avid readers and seemed to be having an ongoing competition lately about who could get through a large volume of Harry Potter first. Victoria had been in the middle of the fifth Harry Potter book when they went to DisneyWorld, while Rosie had not yet finished the fourth book. Because Victoria had had little time to read outside of the plane ride, Rosie had caught up and the girls had been vying for dominance since the Holmes family had returned to London. Victoria had announced only two days earlier that she had finished the book and Molly understood why she was anxious to discover whether Rosie had also finished it. They had not had an opportunity to talk since then.

"Is Adam coming?" piped up Christina with interest.

"Hmmm, is Adam a Watson?" teased Molly with another smile at her second daughter. Christina and Adam were the best of friends and yet the best of enemies. They were both extremely competitive for the tender ages of eight and seven, although Adam tended to go about things in a more quiet way then Christina. He also didn't pout as openly when he was bested by Christina.

"And Johannah too?" pressed her daughter.

Molly ruffled Christina's hair. "I did say the Watsons are coming and I hardly think they would leave a three-year-old behind." Everyone adored little Johannah, and Kayla referred to her as her little miracle. After Adam, she had suffered two miscarriages and had given up hope of having another child of her own. Then, unexpectedly, at the age of 44, she had conceived again and successfully carried the pregnancy to term, resulting in a sweet little cherub who was the apple of her big sister's eye, as well as the rest of her family.

The children went back to their game as Sherlock walked over to Molly. "I think I'll go upstairs and do a bit of research on funeral services. It has been many years since I attended one and I'd like to know what to expect."

Molly gave him an assessing look, wondering if he was planning to remain upstairs during the Watsons' visit because he felt unable to deal with others. "Are you going to come downstairs when our friends get here?"

Sherlock's eyes shifted slightly downwards and he bit his lip, pulling her aside and saying in a low voice the children could not overhear, "To be honest, I'm not certain that I'm ready to face anyone yet. What if I am overcome with emotion while they are here? It would be so embarrassing."

Molly frowned at that. "Sherlock, you just lost your father. You are allowed to be emotional and heartbroken. There is no shame in allowing your grief to show in front of others."

He thrust his hands into his pockets. "Intellectually, I understand that. I just don't want to appear weak."

Molly rolled her eyes. "Sherlock Holmes, John is your best friend. If you can't share your true feelings and sadness with him, how do you think you are going to make it through the funeral when there will be many more people around who knew and loved your father?"

His lips twisted. "I suppose you're right. Just call me when they get here and I'll be down."

Molly reached up and kissed her husband's cheek. "I'll do that, honey." Then she watched as he trudged up the stairs slowly.

Molly walked over to the boys and took over in helping them with the _Cluedo_ game. They had just completed a second one, both of which Christina had won, when the doorbell rang.

Molly went to the front door and opened it to admit the Watson family. Rosie entered first and Molly couldn't help thinking how much she resembled Mary with her golden hair and quick smile.

John was holding a large rectangular casserole dish covered with foil. Adam had his father's blonde hair and walked inside along with John. Kayla was last to enter with Johannah on her hip. The toddler looked very much like her, with the same brown hair that hung below her shoulders and the hazel eyes of her mother as well.

Molly took the casserole dish from John. "Thank you. I'll get this into the oven right away." John looked around then followed her, even as everyone else made their way into the sitting room. "Where is Sherlock? How is he handling things?"

Molly turned on the stove and set the timer for forty-five minutes, placing the casserole inside the oven and not bothering to wait for it to preheat. "I've never seen anything affect him so hard, John. It has been hard on all of us but Sherlock, well, he's devastated in a way I've just never seen before."

John nodded. "I know what he's going through. I lost both of my parents before I met Sherlock. My dad was an alcoholic and he died of liver failure, brought on in part by his drinking, and my mum died of lung cancer. She was a chain smoker. Both of them died younger than they should have due to those issues, but it doesn't matter what age you are when you lose a parent, it's painful and it's a process that has to be worked through. Of course, you'd know that, having lost your own father at an early age."

Molly looked at John, surprised. He had never divulged this information before and it had not been her place to ask about his circumstances. It was funny how shared loss tended to lead to people opening up about their own experiences. "I'm sorry about your parents," she said softly.

John shrugged. "It was a long time ago and I was very bitter at the time. In fact, I think I blamed God for a while which is why I kind of fell away from going to church. I was raised Catholic, as you know."

This was something of course that Molly had learned over the years since John had become a Christian, his spiritual background, but again, she had not felt it her place to ask why he had fallen away from his upbringing in the first place.

Impulsively, she hugged him. "I'm so glad you got past that and learned that God doesn't cause bad things to happen. I always find it so sad when people blame God for every bad thing that happens in their lives, when I believe that these bad things only occur because of sin entering the world. Then again, I guess we can't expect people to understand something when they don't have all the facts of the Bible to back it up."

"True enough," John agreed.

Molly opened the door to the enclosed backyard to let the cats and dog go outside as they had appeared at the back door. Then she and John headed back to the sitting room where Victoria and Rosie were huddled close together obviously discussing Harry Potter by the animated way in which they were gesturing. Molly was sure she heard them say something about Voldemort.

Christina and Adam were also together and Molly heard her daughter boast, "I just won two games of Cluedo!" to which Adam seemed suitably impressed.

The twins were taking turns trying to entertain Johannah who was sitting on Kayla's lap.

Molly was just considering whether she should go upstairs to fetch Sherlock when, at that moment, he came down the stairs. "Ah, I thought I heard the doorbell!" he exclaimed upon entering the front room, with what Molly knew was an obviously false note of cheeriness in his voice.

Kayla turned her head towards him. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Sherlock. If there's anything we can do, just name it."

Sherlock gave her a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Thank you, Kayla. We appreciate you taking the time to make us your famous chicken casserole for dinner."

Kayla blushed slightly. "It's really not that hard to make, and Molly told me she often makes it for you as well."

"Ah yes," responded Sherlock in a hearty voice, "but you must put in some extra secret ingredient that makes it especially delicious."

John was obviously not fooled by this enthusiasm and he walked up to his friend, placing his hand on his shoulder. "How are you really doing, mate?"

Sherlock seemed to visibly deflate then and he pressed his lips together briefly. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."

Molly forced herself to stop watching Sherlock and focussed her attention on the children as the men continued to talk quietly. She was glad John could be there for his friend.

Molly sat down beside her own good friend and reached a hand out to tickle Johannah, who giggled delightedly before saying, "No, Auntie Molly, that tickles!" She scrambled off her mother's lap and went over to the twins who had moved away from her and begun constructing something out of Lego on the coffee table. Noah obligingly handed a Lego piece to the toddler and the three of them started putting various pieces together in a rather random fashion that indicated they were not serious about constructing anything other than to have fun.

"Molly," Kayla began a little hesitantly, catching Molly's attention, "John and I have been talking, and we would like to attend the funeral for your father-in-law. I'm assuming it will be in Sussex?"

Molly nodded. "I'm sure Sherlock would appreciate the support. The obituary will be in the paper tomorrow, according to Mycroft. The funeral is set for a week from today. Sherlock's mother already told him you are welcome to stay at the house if you come the day before. We can figure out where everyone will sleep when the time comes." Then she said, "Of course, it may be the last time we are at the house. Sherlock's parents had just come up to London to talk with Mycroft about potentially selling it and moving to London to be closer to us. It was getting to be difficult for them to keep up such a big place with only a part-time housekeeper to help them."

"Oh, that's such a shame, I have some lovely memories of that place as well when we have visited. It's such a lovely house and so close to Brighton. Couldn't the place be rented out for now if necessary so it could stay in the family?"

Molly pondered Kayla's suggestion. It actually sounded like a good idea and she wondered if Mycroft had thought to make that suggestion to his mother. She would have to ask Sherlock what he thought about that. The idea of possibly eventually retiring to Sussex and that house was not unappealing. Much as she loved London, she could definitely see her twilight years being spent away from the hustle and bustle of the city.

Molly suddenly remembered a long ago conversation she had had with Sherlock early in their marriage. He had told her about a family farm in Sussex that had belonged to his paternal grandparents and had been passed down to William Holmes upon their deaths. It had been subsequently leased to tenants and was still presumably leased. Sherlock's grandfather had been a passionate apiarist and the farm had a number of beehives. She remembered Sherlock expressing an interest in one day retiring to that farm and tending the bees for himself. Did he still want to do that?

Out loud she said to Kayla, "That's a good idea. I'd love for the house to stay within the family. We have a lot of wonderful memories there over the last few years as well."

"I wouldn't mind moving to the area eventually myself," Kayla confided. "I've really enjoyed the times our families have stayed there together and we've gone to the beach. It's so nice to be close enough to Brighton that you can take a day-trip to the ocean whenever you feel like it, but not have to worry about staying in the city itself."

Molly smiled. "That's true. I think Sherlock's parents enjoyed it as well. You know they think of your children as surrogate grandchildren too." She had to blink back sudden tears as she realised there would be no more fun trips like that with the Holmes grandparents.

Kayla put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed gently in sympathy. "Regardless of what happens with the house, we can still make time to do our annual visit to the ocean. You know John and Sherlock love to pretend it is a nuisance to get away from detective work and cases for a week each summer but that they secretly enjoy it."

"I know, they are so obvious too about it." The women shared a smile. Kayla was quite right. Sherlock would always teasingly complain about being away from London for a week but in reality he was definitely not as aggressive in pursuing his detective work as he had once been, and over the past couple of years especially, she had noticed that there were times when he would go for days, even a week, without seeking out a new case after wrapping one up successfully. He loved spending time with the children and just being a dad. Greg Lestrade still called him in to consult on cases on a regular basis though and Sherlock seemed to enjoy those the most because he didn't have to seek out the case himself. They were usually more interesting as well, involving murders and the like.

This year they had foregone the usual trip though in order to go to DisneyWorld in Florida. The experience had been wonderful but now she felt a little regret that the children had not had the opportunity to spend as much time with their grandparents over the summer as usual. It would definitely not be the same without William Holmes's presence in future. She sighed a little at the thought and Kayla squeezed her shoulder again.

The women sat quietly then to watch their children playing together, and a few minutes later, the men walked back over to their wives. "We should get going now," announced John in a rather loud voice to alert his children.

"I assume Sherlock told you about the invitation to stay with his mother and us at the house before the funeral?"enquired Molly.

"Of course I did," responded Sherlock loftily, not allowing John to answer, adding, "and he accepted."

The children responded with various excited exclamations and Molly couldn't help grinning. The Holmes and Watson children might not be blood relatives, but they sure acted as if they were true cousins in every way.

After the Watsons left, Molly noticed a slight change in the atmosphere. She suspected it was the fact that there was something for them to look forward to now as well as deal with the sorrow of the upcoming days.

The chicken casserole was summarily eaten and enjoyed for dinner. "You know I like yours just as much as Kayla's, don't you?" confided Sherlock to Molly, as they cleared the plates from their meal.

Molly smiled at her husband. "I know, but it was sweet of you to pay Kayla that compliment."

After more hours spent in family time, playing games, the children were tucked into bed once again, and Sherlock and Molly settled into bed as well.

She reached out her arms to Sherlock and kissed him tenderly. "I love you," she said, needing to offer him reassurance of the fact that he was loved.

"Love you too, Molly," he responded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and brushing her cheek gently with his thumb.

He slipped his arms around her waist and pulled her into himself, then curled his body around hers in that familiar way she loved, and they both slept.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, day two is over. I hope you enjoyed the opportunity of seeing the Watson family and how close the two families are. What did you think of the John backstory for his parents? I've often wondered about that and thought I'd offer my own little theory.

Little shout-out and thanks to **Aslan's Princess** for giving me the idea of having Kayla make a chicken casserole. Do check out her lovely Crossover Sherlock/Kingdom Hearts story and review it. Kayla will be popping up in that story as a character as well.

Hope you also like the little nod to ACD and the bees. In my initial story, one chapter involved Sherlock reflecting on the bee farm in Sussex so it is part of my personal canon already. That is definitely one of the perks for me in writing a single post TFP universe for the characters. I can draw on previous stories and experiences and reinforce them. If you haven't read those earlier stories though, I do hope it does not detract from your enjoyment of this one. I kind of look at it this way. This story is like a small picture that can be integrated into a larger one, but only if you wish to do so.


	4. Reflections and Family Time

_Two days now since my Daddy left me, _was Sherlock's first thought as he returned to wakefulness. He wondered how the meeting would go with the funeral director that day. Perhaps he should have insisted on being there as well? Then he remembered the way Mycroft had said he should be with his family and knew it was the right thing to do.

He opened his eyes to early morning sunlight filtering through the curtains and the feel of a delightful smelling woman whose hair always smelled of strawberries even after so many years. Molly loved her special shampoo and still used the same brand. Sherlock inhaled the scent and her hair tickled his nose . He placed his hand against it to stroke its softness and Molly made a little sound then turned to face him.

"Hi," she said softly, reaching a hand up to touch his face gently.

"Hi, yourself," he greeted back, looking at the still relatively unlined skin of the woman he loved so much. Her hair still held traces of red in it from her last visit to the hairdresser. Over the years, Molly had begun to experiment with different hairstyles and colours. A few months after Christina had been born, she had tried blonde highlights and had her hair shortened to just over shoulder length. She had been pleased with the result and Sherlock conceded that she had looked very attractive, but he was used to Molly's light brown hair and its long length which she had had ever since he had met her. He remembered how on that first night after her hair had been cut and highlighted, it had felt a little as if he was cheating on Molly with a glamorous stranger. But, of course, the feel of her body pressed against his had been the same as it had ever been , her scent unchanged and their union as glorious as it always was.

The shorter hairstyle had ended up irritating Molly when she found it more difficult to braid, and Sherlock had been secretly relieved when she had chosen to grow it out again. Ever since that time, she had kept it long.

Molly had tried a spiral perm after that as an experiment, complaining that her hair was always so straight, curls would fall out of it too quickly when she used her curling iron, even if she used a lot of hairspray. He had rather enjoyed seeing those manufactured waves in her hair, but again, she didn't quite look like _his_ Molly. Given the naturally straight nature of her hair, the perm had only lasted for a few weeks and Molly decided it was too much trouble to have to go to a hairdresser so often to have another one. Also, as Sherlock had pointed out, having read the tip online, if Molly wanted to effect wavy hair for a special occasion, the best way to do it was just to braid her hair while wet before bed, then sleep with it that way. As long as she didn't brush her hair too vigorously when she took out the braid the next day, but finger-combed it instead after taking out the braid, it would retain the waves for the special event.

There had been purple highlights one year as well, when the twins were only a year old. Sherlock still remembered that particular conversation quite clearly.

* * *

_4 Years Earlier_

"_Sherlock," said Molly, looking at her reflection in the bedroom mirror on the inside of their wardrobe, after the girls had been tucked in for the night and the twins had been settled into their cots, "Kaitlyn got pink highlights in her hair a few weeks ago and it looks so pretty. I've seen a few people getting different fashion colours in their hair lately. How would you feel if I tried something different?"_

_Sherlock narrowed his eyes a little. "Please don't tell me you wish to bleach your hair and then change it to some obnoxious green or blue colour. I mean, it's your hair, your choice, but the children might not recognise you if you did something so extreme."_

_Molly laughed and turned towards him, slipping her arms around his waist. "Of course I'm not going to do something like that, honey. That kind of thing requires way to much maintenance and I could never spare the time to be at the hairdresser every other week. Besides, I think I'm a little long in the tooth for that. I'm forty-three, after all."_

"_Forty-three?" he murmured. "You look like an angel to me; haven't aged a day since we met." He swept some of her currently brown hair aside and kissed her neck, feeling satisfied at the way her breath still hitched when he did things like that, even after being married for close to six years._

_With four children, it was getting increasingly more difficult to get any alone time when all were asleep at the same time and he didn't intend to waste this opportunity. With that thought in mind, he swung Molly around and propelled her backwards towards the bed._

"_Sherlock," she exclaimed, when the back of her knees were against the mattress, "I was trying to tell you something. What was it again?"_

_His hands moved to her shoulders, massaging them through the fabric of her blouse. "Something about hair?" He pressed kisses to the little hollow beneath her earlobe, following along her jawline, seeking the ultimate thrill of her lips and she gasped, putting her hands to his chest to push him slightly from her._

"_Oh yes, just let me finish, please, and then you can have your way with me."_

_He looked down at her, eyes glittering with the desire she always evoked in him. "You promise?"_

"_Of course I do," she responded a little breathlessly. "So anyway, can I get purple highlights?" she asked in a rush. _

As if she needs my permission, _he thought indulgently. He would let her do anything she wanted, if it would please her. But he said the words anyway. "Permission granted."_

"_Thank you," were her last words before he captured her lips with his own in a searing kiss of longing that was the pre-cursor to a rather fiery session of lovemaking, for once uninterrupted by lusty wails for attention from either of the twins._

* * *

Sherlock came back to himself as Molly asked, "Where did you go? I lost you there for a few seconds."

Sherlock's lips twitched as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. "Just thinking about the various hairstyles and colours you've sported over the years, especially when you asked me if you could get the purple highlights, remember?"

She giggled. "I remember. You've been remarkably accommodating to my little hair idiosyncrasies even though I've been very cruel in making you keep your curls and never allowing you to change your own hair." She tugged playfully at a springy lock.

"Well, that's the thing - hair is definitely something not worth having an argument over. I must admit, the purple was okay, but I definitely prefer the red you usually lean towards these days when you get highlights. You still look like you, if you know what I mean."

She smiled. "I agree. The red is also not so unlike my hair colour that I feel it necessary to have my roots touched up often, although I suppose I really am due for a trip to the hairdresser again."

"If you wish to make an appointment for today, I'm not on a case and can take care of the children while you are gone," remarked Sherlock.

Molly bent forward to kiss him. "Are you sure you're up to it?"

Sherlock smirked. "Believe me, they are at an easier age now to deal with than the day you got those purple highlights. Noah and Scott would not settle for naps. Then when you came home, if you recall, both Victoria and Christina clung to me as if you were some intruder to our house."

Molly sat up and hugged her knees to herself. "I had almost forgotten that. I'm glad they are used to my little trips to the hairdresser now. Did you know, Victoria asked me while we were at DisneyWorld, how soon she would be able to start colouring her hair as well? I told her not until she was at least thirteen, and no fashion colours until at least sixteen."

Sherlock frowned and sat up beside Molly, placing his arm around her. "Kids these days. Next it will be asking when she can have another piercing."

"Oh, I've already had that conversation with Victoria," confided Molly, eyes twinkling at him. "I told her she has to wait until she is sixteen for a second piercing in her ears as well. She's lucky I allowed her to get her ears pierced this year. I wasn't allowed to get mine done until I was sixteen, and here I am, giving her permission to have a second one at that time."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Now we just have to wait for Christina to ask when she will be allowed to have a tattoo. If anyone seems like the type to go for that sort of thing, it will be her."

Molly laughed and released her hold on her knees to slide her own arms around Sherlock's waist. "We'll see. That would certainly be something I would not allow until she is at least eighteen."

"I prefer twenty-one. How come you get to make up all the rules for when they are allowed to do these things?" He pouted at her.

"I'll let you make up the rules for the boys." She smirked and planted a kiss on his lips.

"Alright then, but I want to at least have my way in saying no boyfriends until the girls are sixteen. Going with a group on outings is fine, but no alone time with a boy until then."

"Works for me. Of course, we do have some years before we have to worry about that. Victoria is only nine, after all," remarked Molly.

Sherlock's expression darkened. "Adam Watson is only eight and I suspect he already has a thing for Christina."

"Sherlock, you don't have to worry about Christy. She has already informed me that she intends to be too busy solving crimes with you to ever get involved in yucky snogging or going out with boys. She will probably break dear Adam's heart. Although, I must say, if she did ever decide it was okay to fall in love and get married, she could do a lot worse than marry the son of your best friend."

"Don't even think about matchmaking for them, Molly," Sherlock warned, only half-jokingly. He was well aware of his wife's romantic nature and how she liked seeing everyone happily matched.

She gave him another peck on the lips, then got out of bed to get dressed. "Don't worry, I won't - at least not yet." She gave him an impudent grin and he shook his head in amusement.

Once the children were up and breakfast was finished, they left the kitchen to do other things while Molly called her favourite hair salon, the one she had used ever since the morning of their wedding, and made an appointment for two o'clock.

"I'm so glad Nikki is working today. She knows my hair so well and we've become such good friends since she created that illusion of natural waves for our wedding day with almost an entire can of hairspray."

Sherlock grinned at the remembrance. Molly's hair had indeed been a masterpiece of magnificence under her veil, but it had also been incredibly prickly. He had been glad to wash her hair to rid it of that stiffness in the bubble bath they had shared on their wedding night. _Such _a wonderful memory.

"Ah yes, Dominique has always looked after you well," he commented.

Molly's lips twitched in amusement. "Why do you always use her actual name? Gosh, I told you only once that her name was Dominique although everyone calls her Nikki, but whenever you refer to her, it is as Dominique."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "What is the point in giving someone a name if you do not use it in conversation that way? You said her nickname came about because her young nephews and nieces were unable to pronounce such a long name, but as adults, we do not lack the language skills necessary to pronounce her name correctly, so why abbreviate it? It is a very lovely name and it speaks to her French heritage."

Molly laughed and wrapped her arms around his waist for a tight hug. "All these years, I never thought to ask why you never call Victoria, _Tori_, or Christina, _Christy_."

He smiled and dropped a kiss to the top of his wife's head. "Well, now you know. Remember why you chose the name Victoria in the first place? It was to honour the memory of my childhood friend, Victor. I prefer to hear that name when I talk to our daughter."

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," murmured Molly. "Perhaps I should not use nicknames either."

"Sweetheart, just because I have my own ideas on names, doesn't mean you have to follow my lead. It does not bother me in the slightest that you use nicknames, as do most people. It is just my personal choice to not do so." He tilted Molly's chin up to look at her and smirked. "Besides, that fact makes it much easier for me to get under Mycroft's skin when I refer to him as _Myc_, because he knows I typically share his aversion to using nicknames. He detests the moniker, and occasionally I feel the need to put him in his place."

Molly laughed at that and he bent down to kiss those sweet, laughing lips until Scott entered the room and tugged on his arm. "Daddy, stop snogging Mummy. Can Noah and I go play on the swings in the backyard?"

Sherlock forbore the usual comment about the fact that he did not smog, he _kissed_ the children's mother, and looked affectionately at his youngest-by-mere-minutes son. "Of course, unless you would like to come with me and walk Redbeard?" He raised an enquiring brow.

"I wanna walk Redbeard!" proclaimed Christina, bouncing into the kitchen with her usual enthusiasm. "You can tell me about your last case while we are out," she informed her father.

Victoria too came into the kitchen holding Callie and stroking her soft fur. "Can Rosie come over if it's alright with Uncle John and Auntie Kayla?"

"You may call and ask, but I suggest she only come after lunch," responded Sherlock.

"Can Adam come too then?" asked Christina, giving him an imploring look. Sherlock looked over at Molly who was trying to suppress a grin. He had agreed to watch the four children, not six of them! However, he supposed one more would hardly make a difference.

"Fine, Adam too. But I expect you to include Noah and Scott as well in your leisure activities," he said sternly. Perhaps that would allow him some time to call Mycroft and find out how things had gone at the funeral home and to possibly discuss the order of service for the funeral.

"Yay!" Christina clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Call now, Tori!"

Victoria set the cat down gently on the floor and the animal moved to receive some affection from Noah who had appeared at the entrance to the kitchen as well and automatically stroked her long fur as she wove between his legs, purring loudly. Sherlock noted that as usual Rusty was nowhere to be seen. He tended to keep to himself unless it was time to eat or he could nap with Callie and Redbeard on the rug they had made their own in the sitting room. Redbeard was most likely there right now, patiently waiting to be let out to do his business and go for a walk.

Victoria went upstairs to get her phone and re-appeared a couple minutes later.

Soon, the arrangements had been made for the two older children to come over at one o'clock until four.

With this settled, Sherlock put Redbeard on his lead and took him out for a walk, with Christina trotting alongside, reluctantly holding the required poo bag in case of an accident by Redbeard, peppering her father with questions about his last case.

"Yes, Christina, there was a dead body...no, there was not a lot of blood...yes, the killer knew the victim, it was not a random crime...it was the matching shoe size and indentation of footprints that helped me find the killer...no, I do not have photos of the body to show you."

It was funny, Sherlock reflected, how much Christina reminded him of Archie, who had been around the same age when he had been a part of John and Mary's wedding. That young lad was now a strapping eighteen year old who attended Sherlock and Molly's church with his mother, Allison, and was planning to pursue a career in law enforcement.

Duty fulfilled for walking the dog, Sherlock spent some time in the backyard with the boys. Then they played hide-and-seek for a little while, joined by Christina, (Victoria declined because she wished to start the sixth Harry Potter book and chose to read in her bedroom).

Molly was busy in the kitchen while this was happening, preparing her pasta sauce for that evening's dinner, which she liked to have on the stove for hours to "infuse the flatvour of the herbs and garlic into the meat" she had told Sherlock on one occasion when he had asked why it took so long to make the sauce.

The family had finished eating lunch shortly before the doorbell rang to announce the arrival of the Watsons.

Sherlock opened the door to John and his two older children. "Someone's having spaghetti for dinner; smells great," John proclaimed immediately, sniffing the air appreciatively, as Rosie and Adam followed him inside to join the Holmes children who had clustered together to greet the new arrivals.

"Yup," responded Sherlock. "I'm in charge of stirring the sauce while Molly goes off to the hairdresser."

"Speaking of which," Molly said, coming up to stand beside him, "I need to leave soon so I can get there in time for my appointment." She smiled at their friend. "Hi John."

"Hey, Molly," he returned the greeting before raising an eyebrow to Sherlock. "You think you'll be able to manage six kids without Molly's help?"

Sherlock huffed and blustered, although he was still not quite sure about that himself, "Of course I can handle it." Then he added with a smirk, "If I can't, I'll just lock myself in the bedroom and let them go wild."

Molly poked him in the ribs with her elbow then and he flashed her a penitent grin. "Just kidding, love, you know that."

She arched an eyebrow, "Oh, do I? I wouldn't put it past you. I've known you to get into a sulk and spend several hours locked in our bedroom when things don't go your way."

"Molly!," he whined. "Don't say that in front of John. He'll think we're having marital problems."

John laughed at that. "Not likely, Sherlock. You two are still so crazy about one another, you put the rest of us married couples to shame." That put a rather smug smile on Sherlock's face. "Anyway," John continued, "I had better head back home now. I'll be back at four - or earlier if you need help, mate."

The children by this time had left for the sitting room to play a team game of Monopoly and were arguing over who was to partner with whom.

After John had departed, Sherlock and Molly headed into the room where the children were still arguing. "Oldest goes with youngest," she said firmly. "It's only fair." Christina was delighted this paired her with Adam, the older girls were slightly less enthusiastic at being paired with a twin but complied with a good grace, and the children settled down to their game. Sherlock thought admiringly of how well Molly dealt with so many children.

_Maybe I should have insisted on seven, after all, _he mused with an inner smirk. Then he remembered he too would have had to deal with the increased number and decided it was just as well they had stopped at four. Besides, they didn't have enough bedrooms to accommodate seven children. Currently they were able to keep the fifth bedroom which was next to the master bedroom as a spare room for guests. Currently it also housed a desk where he could sit with his laptop and work on cases but eventually the boys would probably demand their own room and he'd lose that space.

"Sherlock," said Molly once they had returned to the kitchen, "I thought I'd stop by and see Martha after my appointment to tell her about your dad. Would that be okay or would you rather give her a ring?"

Sherlock considered for a moment. "You go ahead and tell her. I think it would be better for her to hear the news face-to-face."

Molly nodded. "That's what I thought too. Well, I guess I'll get going now. Text me if you need any help in dealing with some unexpected situation, although I'm sure things will be fine." She gave the pasta sauce one last stir. "And don't forget to watch the sauce so it doesn't burn. Set the timer if you have to."

"I know," responded Sherlock, folding his arms. It was funny how she needed to give him the same instructions every time, even though he had stirred her precious sauce many times over the years and had not once forgotten it or allowed it to burn.

"Thanks, honey." She kissed him farewell and headed outside for the train station. She always preferred to use the Tube when travelling alone rather than deal with traffic in their car or the expense of a taxi. These days people didn't bother her as often as they had when she and Sherlock had first been married and everyone had been curious about the woman who had captured the rather famous consulting detective's heart.

Sherlock followed her to the front door and watched her walk briskly down the street, then closed it. He peeked into the front room where the children seemed to be absorbed in their game so he decided to call Mycroft, walking back to the kitchen once more.

As soon as his brother answered the phone, Sherlock asked, "How did things go today?"

"Quite well actually. I helped Mummy pick out the coffin and the lilies that will be placed upon it. Our family will have the opportunity to spend a short time with Daddy in the Chapel of Rest the day before the funeral."

Sherlock shuddered slightly. He wasn't sure how he felt about viewing the shell of his father's body, but then again, he had already seen it at the hospital.

"Glad you were able to get those details seen to," he responded.

"Oh and," continued Mycroft with a smug note in his voice, "I managed to procure the services of Amalie Baumgartner to sing Fauré's _Pie Jesu_ at the funeral service."

Sherlock's mouth opened in silent astonishment at this. Mycroft really did have connections. German-born Amalie Baumgartner was starring as The Queen of the Night in the Glyndebourne Festival's current production of _The Magic Flute_. Sherlock was aware of this because his mother had been rhapsodising over the coloratura's magnificent voice when she and Sherlock's father had gone to a performance the previous month. They had been members of the Glyndebourne Festival Society for several years, being long-time opera enthusiasts, and the Glyndebourne Festival was conveniently held each year in nearby Lewes. In fact, the Holmes estate was almost equidistant from Brighton and Lewes.

Sherlock was sure Molly would be impressed as well. His wife had participated in an opera workshop in her first year at uni, one that had been held by the Student Union operatic society. This was something he had not been aware of until she told him about it whilst pregnant with Christina. She had enjoyed the opportunity of singing several choruses from different operas, and even performing in costume with staging of the various scenes.

Sensing the extended pause on the other end of the line as Mycroft cleared his throat, waiting for acknowledgment. Sherlock said dutifully, "I'm very impressed, Mycroft. I look forward to hearing her. Mummy told me she is a marvellous opera singer."

"Indeed she is; I was very fortunate to be able to retain her services at short notice with her busy schedule." Mycroft's voice was highly satisfied.

Sherlock grunted in acknowledgment, then asked, "Did you get the obituary done as well?"

Mycroft gave a long-suffering sigh. "Do I ever shirk my responsibilities? Of course I did. I know you don't typically purchase the newspaper, but the obituary is also online for you to read whenever you so choose."

"Alright, Mycroft. I'll take a look at it once Molly gets back home."

"Your wife is not with you?" Mycroft's voice was curious.

"No. She hasn't been to the hairdresser in awhile so I told her to go ahead and make an appointment. She is also planning to let Martha know about our father."

"I see. Probably better for her to hear the news in person. Your former landlady is getting on in years herself. It would not do for her to receive such shocking news over the telephone."

"I thought so too," agreed Sherlock.

An irritated voice sounded loudly from the front room. "Noah, that's not fair. You picked up the dice before I had a chance to tell Rosie and Scott that they owe Adam and me six hundred pounds for landing on Mayfair!"

"That's your fault for paying more attention to Redbeard than the game," pointed out Rosamund, in just as irritated a voice.

"I had better go," Sherlock said into the phone. "I hear an argument escalating from the other room and may need to intervene."

"Very well. Did you see the email yet that I forwarded from Reverend Brown? He will require a response by Friday at the latest so that the orders of service can be printed for the funeral on Tuesday."

"I did not check my email yet, but I shall do so later this evening. Thank you Mycroft. I'll talk to you soon."

"Good day, brother mine."

Sherlock put his phone back in his pocket, spent a moment stirring the pasta sauce. He then strode along the hallway to the sitting room where the argument was escalating.

"Stop bickering now or I will take the board away and nobody will play," he said firmly. "Now state your cases and I shall make the determination. Christina, seeing as you were the one whose voice I heard first, explain your grievance."

Christina did so, followed by Rosamund explaining her version of events. In the end, Sherlock decided the only fair thing would be for Rosamund and Scott to pay half the amount. "And in future, Christina, keep your focus on the game and not the dog."

The children complied without complaint and settled back into playing.

_Not too bad of I do say so myself,_ thought Sherlock, feeling a little proud of his mediation skills.

He continued to watch the children play, returning to the kitchen twice to dutifully give the pasta sauce a stir, and there were no more conflicts. Once the game was over, they decided to put on a home DVD of a Christmas where all of them had been at the Holmes house In Sussex together, two years earlier.

It was bittersweet, watching such a joyful time and a very-much-alive William Holmes participating in the festivities and later, snoring gently in his favourite chair. Sherlock felt his eyes fill with tears and made an abrupt exit, unable to watch any more.

He heard a sniffle from the sitting room and then another. He considered turning off the DVD but decided against it. The children had been the ones who wanted to watch it, after all.

With a heart that once again felt heavy, Sherlock sat at the dining room table and allowed grief to wash over him once again as silent tears coursed down his cheeks. Would this pain never end? It seemed like the sun was hidden behind a cloud except for occasional bursts where it peeked out and shone to provide a temporary distraction. Thank God the children were all still preoccupied in the other room. They didn't need to see him still being weak this way.

Finally, he grabbed a tissue, feeling grateful that Molly insisted on having tissue boxes in almost every room of the house, and wiped his eyes and face, then blew his nose quietly. He stirred the pasta sauce again. The aroma of garlic pervaded his senses and made his mouth water the way it always did when Molly made spaghetti.

He peeked into the sitting room to see all was now quiet, the DVD apparently finished and the television tuned to a cartoon which the twins were watching. Callie was in Scott's lap and for once, Rusty was purring contentedly on Noah's. Redbeard was sleeping on the rug.

Christina and Adam were at the chess board at the small table in front of the window, and his daughter seemed to be explaining what each piece did, judging by the way she was picking up the different pieces. He had taught her the game over a year earlier at her request. She had understood it very quickly and was already better than Victoria who had learned at the same time. Sherlock had also attempted to teach the boys the game, but they were still very much novices.

Rosamund and Victoria were nowhere to be seen and he deduced they would be up in Victoria's room discussing boys or Harry Potter.

With everything quiet, Sherlock grabbed his laptop from the desk in the spare room upstairs and returned to the sit at the dinging table. Rubbing a hand across his face, noting he needed a shave, Sherlock flagged the email Mycroft had forwarded for future reference and briefly read over a few others. Surprisingly, his inbox was singularly devoid of requests for help with cases. He searched for and found the obituary and bookmarked it to show Molly as well when she came home, then returned to the front room to await John's return.

John arrived promptly at four o'clock for his children and there were the usual grumbles and requests to stay longer on the parts of both Holmes and Watson children, but John was firm, and soon Sherlock was left alone once more with his brood.

He was watching Christina out-play Victoria in a chess game when he heard a key being inserted in the lock of the front door. Molly was home.

* * *

**Author's note:** So, this chapter was an opportunity to see the more domestic side of the Holmes family and I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it. What are your thoughts on Sherlock's preference for using given names rather than nicknames? I thought it would be fun to address it here.

I hope you also enjoyed the little reflection by Sherlock about Molly's changing hairstyles over the years and a little romance into the bargain - thought the story needed a little levity!

I have to thank fellow writer/reader **Wandering Soprano** for her help in telling me about the Glyndebourne Festival as well as making suggestions for appropriate funeral solos. You can find the Fauré _Pie Jesu_ on YouTube, it is a beautiful piece of music. It was fun to create an opera singer character (most of my regular readers know I'm an opera singer myself so this theme is near and dear to my heart).

Didn't Sherlock do a good job in taking care of the six children?

Looking forward to hearing from my wonderful readers!


	5. Sharing the Sad News

**Author's note:** Well, time really goes by fast, doesn't it? Yesterday was three months since my father-in-law's passing (and since I began this story). It was also my 2 year anniversary on this site. Can you believe I've written over 50 stories for Sherlolly? Guess I'm a little OCD about them...

* * *

Molly left the house and headed in the direction of the Manor House Tube Station at a brisk pace. She enjoyed the walk, it helped to clear her head, but she couldn't help hoping Sherlock would not have any issues in dealing with the children.

She arrived at the Baker Street Station with fifteen minutes to spare before her appointment and considered dropping in to see Mrs. Hudson first, but decided it would be better to wait until after her appointment.

Upon entering the hair salon a few minutes early, Nikki came up to her immediately. "Oh hi, Molly, you're early! I had a cancellation, so come right over."

Nikki directed her to a chair and Molly sat down with a happy sigh. Going to the hairdresser was one of the few luxuries she allowed herself and she loved being pampered in that way for a couple hours away from the house.

"So, highlights and a trim, right?" Nikki enquired and Molly nodded. Nikki's own dark blonde hair sported light pink highlights and it was artfully braided at the top but left unbraided below the neck to show off the pretty colour. It was one of the things that Molly loved to see, the way her hairdresser enjoyed colouring her own hair. Of course she was also about twelve years younger than Molly. Molly was tempted for a moment to ask for the same pink highlights, but, given the upcoming solemn occasion of the funeral, she felt it would be a rather frivolous choice and decided against it. Perhaps another time.

"Yes, I'm overdue for a cut and my roots are really starting to show. There's probably some grey hair by now too." Her lips quirked.

Nikki looked at Molly's hair closely, peering at the regrowth. "Not that I can see," she reported. "So, did you have a colour in mind? Do you want to look at the colour selections?"

Molly thought for a moment. "You know, I really love the red you used last time, it looks quite natural and Sherlock seemed to quite like it as well." She smirked, remembering a previous colour choice that was listed as 'flame' which had been a very bold statement. "I think we'll forgo the flame colour from a year ago."

Nikki laughed. "Sounds good, although I have to say, I thought that red looked great on you. Let me just go and get things ready and I'll be right back."

Molly watched Nikki walk away for a few moments, admiring once again Nikki's hair. Then she checked her phone to see if she had missed a text from Sherlock. She was reassured to see there was none. Apparently he was surviving so far.

After a few minutes, Nikki returned with the bowl that had the dye mixture she would be putting on Molly's hair. She combed through Molly's hair, sectioned it off with big clips and then began working, weaving through the strands with her comb, painting on the dye mixture and closing the aluminium foil over each section of hair. As she worked, she and Molly chatted.

"So," began Nikki, "Last time I saw you, you were only weeks away from heading to DisneyWorld in America. How was your trip?"

Molly smiled, looking at Nikki via the mirror in front of her. "Oh, it was absolutely wonderful. We had such a good time. The children were just amazed at the size of the parks, so unlike attending the little funfairs here. I mean, we've been to Finsbury Park a couple times but there's just no comparison."

Her hairdresser sighed dreamily. "You're so lucky. Going to one of the Disney destinations, either in America or perhaps Paris, is on my bucket list. Maybe one day, when Addy and Paul are a little older."

Nikki had been married now for five years. Molly had seen photos of her adorable three year old daughter, Adelaide, as well as little Paul. Molly mentally calculated he must be about eighteen months old now.

Nikki closed the foil around a small section of Molly's hair she had painted and moved to separate another section, weaving the comb through it again in order to apply the dye to only certain areas.

"Oh yes, I recommend waiting until the children are at least as old as Noah and Scott. Even at five, it was a little difficult with all the walking. We were fortunate to be going with other family members who could help when the boys got tired."

"Ah, I see. I'll definitely bear that in mind," responded Nikki. "I agree it would be better to wait until they are old enough to remember and enjoy the experience. Now I just have to convince Charles that we need to take a holiday there one day. He's not particularly fond of crowds."

Molly grinned at that. "Nor is Sherlock, but he enjoyed himself as well. Really, we did it more for the children than ourselves, to give them the opportunity to experience something enjoyable in another country."

"Well, if Charles makes a fuss, I will just tell him if Sherlock Holmes can do it for his family, so can he," laughed Nikki.

Molly laughed as well. "Oh absolutely, whatever helps to put your point across." She recalled something from the last time she had visited the hairdresser and changed the subject. "Oh, you were telling me last time that your mother is thinking of retiring and passing the salon over to you. Is that still happening?"

Nikki smiled. "Actually, we are just finishing up the paperwork now. I've already decided to change the name of the salon to _Dominique's _once the transfer is complete. What do you think?"

"Oh, I love it," exclaimed Molly. "It has such a classy air; there's something about French names that gives things a special refinement, not that _Gabrielle's_ isn't also lovely," she hastened to add, "but people don't necessarily know to pronounce it in the French way. Besides, I love your name. In fact, Sherlock just said today he likes your name as well. He never refers to you as Nikki."

Nikki giggled. "Dominique might sound more classy, but I've always felt if I introduced myself that way it might seem rather pretentious. Anyway, I'm used to being Nikki at this point. But I don't think calling the salon 'Nikki' would have quite the same air of elegance." She had finished another piece of hair and wrapped foil around it by this time, moving to the next. Molly admired how fast Nikki was able to do her hair, long though it was.

"Well, once the salon changes names, I hope you still have time to fit me in. You will probably start getting more famous clients."

Nikki raised a brow. "Are you kidding me? I tell all my clients about how I get to do the hair of Sherlock Holmes's wife. Everyone is always so impressed. You're rather famous by association. Every now and then, one of my younger clients comes in and asks if I've seen you lately or tries to get some gossip out of me. But I don't tell them anything about your personal life, of course." Molly knew this was true. There was a bond of trust between the women that had grown over the ten years they had known one another, and there was a hairdresser/client confidentiality that existed between them that was similar to that shared by lawyers and their clients.

"Speaking of personal life," Molly said, her expression changing to one of solemnity, "my father-in-law passed away a couple days ago so we will be heading down to Sussex soon for the funeral. Sherlock was actually the one who suggested I go and get my hair done today."

Nikki paused in the middle of painting the next strands of hair. "Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that, Molly. Was your father-in-law ill? How old was he?"

She resumed her task as Molly responded. "He has had some breathing issues and COPD for awhile now and other various ailments. He was ninety earlier this year. We'll miss him a lot though."

"I'm sure your faith is carrying you through this difficult time," commented the hairdresser, closing another piece of foil around more of Molly's hair. Molly's hair was looking decidedly wild by this time with all the hair sticking out in between the foiled areas. One of the reasons Molly and Nikki got along so well was their shared faith. Yes, Nikki was a practicing Catholic and Molly was a practicing Protestant, but they both knew and loved Jesus, recognising Him as Saviour of the world. Little theological differences didn't make Molly doubt the sincerity of Nikki's faith, and they had had some interesting discussions at times about the different ways they worshipped.

"It does help, although of course that doesn't make the pain of loss any less. It's very difficult for Sherlock especially. He's never lost anyone close to him before, well, not a family member, at least."

Nikki looked at her with sympathy. "I'll be praying for you."

"Thank you, my friend," responded Molly. "One should never underestimate the power of prayer. I've seen too many wonderful things happen as a result of people praying for me. It really does help to know we are covered in prayer."

Nikki nodded and the two women continued to chat as Molly's hair began to look progressively wilder. Finally, when Nikki was finished, Molly looked at herself in the mirror. She wondered what Sherlock would think of her at this moment, with her hair sticking out all over the place. Thinking it might be amusing to see his reaction, she pulled out her phone, plastered a big smile on her face and took a selfie.

Half an hour later, the dye had processed sufficiently for Nikki to remove the foils and wash Molly's hair, following it with the requested trim. As usual, Molly was very pleased with the result. The red, a little more prominent now in her hair than the shade to which it had faded, blended well with her own hair tones and didn't appear obviously coloured.

Mirroring her own thoughts, Nikki said, "You know, that colour really does look natural on you. I think you were born to be a redhead."

Molly grinned. "I wouldn't go that far, but thank you; it looks wonderful!"

She looked at her watch and saw it was just after four o'clock, still plenty of time to have a quick visit with Martha before heading home.

After paying for her new hairstyle and figuring it was well worth the price, Molly left the salon and headed back to Baker Street.

Upon reaching the outer door of 221B, she fished out the key from her pocket and unlocked the door.

Molly wasn't surprised when almost immediately the door to Mrs Hudson's flat opened and the elderly woman peered out with a "Sherlock, where have you been? I haven't seen you..." Martha's voice trailed away when she saw Molly instead of Sherlock. "Molly! What are you doing here? Is everything okay?" Her voice took on a note of concern as her brow furrowed.

"I..I'm afraid I have some bad news. Do you think I could come in and speak with you for a few minutes?"

Martha's expression took on a look of fear. "Please don't tell me something has happened to Sherlock, or one of the children!" she said anxiously, ushering Molly into her flat as she did so.

"No, no, they're fine," Molly assured the elderly woman hastily, taking the seat indicated. "It's Sherlock's father, William. I'm afraid he passed away two days ago. We didn't want to just call you on the phone and this is the first opportunity I've had to come and see you."

Martha's face drained of colour. "William? Oh my heavens, I'm so sorry to hear it." She sank down into a chair herself. "What happened?"

"My in-laws were here in London visiting with Mycroft, and my father-in-law started having trouble with his breathing so Mycroft took him to the Chelsea and Westminster Hospital. They managed to stabilise him but-" here Molly swallowed and tears gathered in her eyes, "he took a turn for the worse overnight and we got a call in the morning from Sherlock's mother to say he wasn't going to make it." Tears slipped down Molly's face then as she continued. "Sherlock rushed to the hospital as soon as he got the news and I followed with the children, but it was already too late when Sherlock got there. My father-in-law was gone."

Martha stood back up rather stiffly, as she was wont to do these days, being in her upper eighties herself, and walked the few steps to Molly to place her arms around her, tears in her own eyes. "I'm so sorry, dear. William was a fine man and I know he adored all of you. I still remember the way he said to me on your wedding day that he could not imagine a better partner for Sherlock than you."

Molly gave a tremulous smile. "He did?"

"Indeed he did. I haven't seen Sherlock's parents too many times, but every time we've been together, for birthdays and the like, both William and Violet have always told me how proud they are of their family in general. I suppose Mycroft is keeping a stiff upper lip about it?"

Molly brushed at her tears and Martha reached for a tissue from a side table and handed it to her. "Yes, you know Mycroft. I'm glad he has Elizabeth, and I'm guessing in private he might release some of that sadness. Mark is handling it fairly well, although he too has been somewhat emotional. The children are grieving too, as am I, but Sherlock...I've never seen him in so much pain, Martha."

She was surprised when Martha responded with, "I know his pain comes from sorrow right now, but I've seen Sherlock in severe pain on two occasions, and I mean emotional pain, not physical. He's been in physical distress on many occasions and hasn't allowed that to unsettle him."

"I know Sherlock was very upset about Mary's death," responded Molly slowly, trying to figure out what other occasion the elderly landlady could be referring to. "For the second occasion, are you referring to after the events of Sherrinford?"

"On no, dear, he was definitely unsettled by that, and I know now he was thinking how to approach you when the silly boy finally realised he loved you. No, I'm talking about the day you were kidnapped by that nasty man during your engagement. I have never seen Sherlock Holmes so terrified as when I told him about the man who had come for you, saying Sherlock had been stabbed by his sister and he was to take you to the hospital. Of course, when Sherlock turned up safe and sound, I knew something was wrong, but he knew immediately you had been kidnapped and he was just beside himself. Much as Sherlock loved his father, _you_ are the love of his life. If he lost you I'm not sure he would ever recover."

Molly blew her nose into the tissue and scrunched it up into her hand. "Well, of course I feel the same about Sherlock, but I hate to see him suffering this way."

"Molly, dear child, you have your faith. Doesn't that sustain you?" Molly thought it was rather ironic that she had come in person to tell Martha the sad news, yet here she was, falling apart and being comforted instead by the elderly landlady.

"Oh yes, of course it does, but that doesn't lessen the pain. I do know and believe that we will see Sherlock's father again one day, though."

Mrs. Hudson patted her hand. "Then you hold onto that, dear. Is there anything I can do for you? I do have some fresh scones..."

Molly smiled up at the woman whom she also dearly loved. "You know that Sherlock never says no to your scones."

"In that case, I will pack some up for you to take home. I made them yesterday, expecting Sherlock would be coming in as he usually does for his client consultations."

Martha walked off slowly, and Molly was reminded again that the woman was nearing ninety herself. She glanced at her watch. She did need to be getting home so she could finish making dinner.

She stood and followed Mrs Hudson to the kitchen where the woman was just putting the last of the scones into a resealable bag for her, tossing the used tissue into the rubbish bin as she passed it. "I hate to get going so soon, but I need to get home and finish making dinner."

Martha handed her the bag. "Of course. Your hair looks lovely, by the way. From the smell of it I can tell you've just come from the hairdresser."

"Thanks, yeah, you know I always go to _Gabrielle's_ to get my hair done, but it will be renamed _Dominique's_ soon because my hairdresser's mum is retiring." Molly added self-consciously, not wanting Martha to think her frivolous in getting her hair done at such a sad time, "Sherlock insisted I get my hair done before we go to Sussex for the funeral, and that is why it worked out well for me to come and see you."

"I see. And when is the funeral to be held?" enquired Martha.

"Next Tuesday."

Mrs. Hudson sighed. "Please do pass on my condolences to your family and Violet. In fact, I must give her a ring and offer my sympathy. I wish I could go to the funeral but I have a rather important appointment on Tuesday with an orthopaedic surgeon to see if he recommends a hip replacement. The cortisone injections help with the pain but they are less effective than they used to be."

Molly looked at her in concern. "If you need the surgery, make sure you let us know about it so we can take care of you. We do have a spare bedroom as well you could use during your recuperation if need be."

Mrs. Hudson smiled. "That is very kind of you, my dear. If I do need the surgery, that would be very much appreciated, but we'll see what happens."

Molly kissed the elderly woman's soft cheek and said goodbye, then headed home.

She had no sooner opened the front door to the tantalising smell of garlic, when Sherlock took her in his arms and kissed her, then stood back, inspecting her hair from all angles.

"Beautiful, as usual," he proclaimed at last, and Molly grinned. Sherlock would think her beautiful no matter what she looked like; in fact, he was not shy in the compliments department, but one could never hear enough of them. Sherlock always made her feel beautiful even as she noticed age lines developing along her own skin, and her neck was no longer as firm as it had once been. But then again, Sherlock himself had a thread or two of silver that occasionally manifested in his curls, and his stubble, when he didn't shave for a couple days, as was evident now, held a trace of grey as well. The truth was that physical beauty was, as the saying said, only skin deep. It was the man himself she adored and she knew he felt the same.

"Thanks honey, but I have to warn you, Nikki had some lovely light pink highlights that I'm seriously considering getting next time."

His lips curved upwards. "Whatever floats your boat, my love."

"I'm not sure if you will still think me beautiful when I look like this," she said, pulling out her phone and showing him the selfie.

Sherlock chuckled. "My wild woman. You look like some kind of futuristic alien, but nothing in this world would ever make me love you any less - unless you shave your head," he teased.

She giggled and slipped her arm around his waist, peering into the front room as they passed it where the children seemed to be happily occupied, then headed for the kitchen. "Looks like you survived the afternoon," she noted.

She walked over to the pasta sauce, seeing with satisfaction that Sherlock had been keeping an eye on it and it was definitely ready to be served as soon as she prepared the spaghetti.

"They behaved quite well, only a couple minor arguments," responded Sherlock, leaning against the counter to watch as Molly busied herself getting out a saucepan and filling it with water for the spaghetti, then adding salt to it, before placing it on the ceramic cooktop.

She dug out the bag of scones from the depths of her handbag and set them on the counter.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. "Scones from Martha for me?"

Molly rolled her eyes. "For all of us to share for dessert with some lovely jam and cream."

He pouted. Sherlock loved his scones.

"There are seven scones, honey, you can have two, okay?"

He looked slightly mollified. "Okay."

As Molly continued the preparations for the dinner, Sherlock told her about the obituary and said they could take a look at it after dinner. He set the dinner dishes on the table and the cutlery. Often, setting the table was assigned to one of the girls, but on this occasion, when the couple wanted to talk about their respective afternoons, this allowed them some private time for discussion.

Half an hour later, dinner was ready and the children were summoned, a prayer was said before the meal and they ate, talking occasionally. Victoria complimented Molly on her hair and remarked that was how she wanted to colour her hair.

"Like I told you before, Tori, not until you are at least thirteen."

Victoria pouted and looked at her father. "Daddy, don't you think I would look pretty with hair like Mummy's?" she asked imploringly. Molly was quite used to her children playing off one parent against the other. Christina especially was a master at going over the head of one parent to ask the other in order to get her way. She, however was much more subtle about it, approaching her parents individually. Victoria had not quite grasped the concept that it wasn't a good idea to try and get her own way when both of her parents were together and one had already said no.

"You heard what your mother said, Victoria," responded Sherlock firmly. "Thirteen, and no earlier."

Victoria huffed a little in disappointment and continued eating.

Following the meal and scones for dessert, once the animals had also been fed and dishes cleared away, the children went off again to do their own thing. This was reading in Victoria's case, Christina going upstairs to practise the violin, and the boys going into the backyard to play with Redbeard.

Sherlock and Molly took the opportunity to take a look at the online obituary Mycroft had prepared, which presumably matched the one in the newspaper.

Molly pulled it up on her iPad in order to see it better without the need to wear reading glasses.

She only read the first sentence before she gasped. "Siger William Holmes? William wasn't his first name? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

Sherlock looked at her and shrugged. "It's no secret, it just never came up, I guess. It might surprise you to know that Mycroft's first name is actually Siger, after our father. So, he actually carries the family name as part of his own. I was named William but, just as people generally weren't referred to by their first name many years ago, I have never been called by that name, and Mycroft has never been referred to as Siger either."

Molly could hardly believe her ears. How had this never come up before? She had found out during her engagement to Sherlock that his mother's full name was actually Margaret Lydia Violet Holmes, due to a conversation that took place between them, but had never thought to ask what William Holmes's full name was. And Mycroft's first name was actually Siger as well? When she and Sherlock had been taking care of sending an email to their pastor with details that were part of the requirements for marriage, one of those was to list the full names of the fathers. However, Molly had answered the questions pertaining to herself and had not bothered to check what Sherlock had responded with when he added his answers to the list of requirements before sending off that email years earlier. Obviously if she had, she would have seen the name and questioned it then.

She pushed aside her surprise and continued to read.

_Beloved husband of Violet; loving father of Mycroft, Sherlock, and Eurus; dear father-in-law of Elizabeth and Molly; adored grandfather of Mark, Victoria, Christina, Noah and Scott._

This was followed by details of the date and location of the funeral.

Finally, Molly saw the end sentence and was pleased that Mycroft had followed Sherlock's request.

_Safe in the arms of Jesus._

Her eyes blurred with tears that she tried to blink away before looking at Sherlock whose eyes were also suspiciously moist. Reading the notice made it that much more real. Sherlock clasped her hand. "I miss him so much, Molly. It's like all of a sudden I have all these questions I want to ask him and now it's too late."

She rested her other hand over his. "I understand, honey. It's so easy to take our parents for granted and think they will always be with us. What you can do though is talk more to your mother, ask her questions. Lavish an extra measure of love and affection on her."

Sherlock swallowed. "I will certainly do that. I want to make sure she knows how much she is appreciated."

Molly rested her head against his shoulder. "Speaking of appreciated, when I was speaking to Martha today, and by the way, she said to pass on her condolences, she mentioned that she has an orthopaedic surgeon appointment next week so she won't be able to attend the funeral. She may be needing a hip replacement. I told her if that was the case, she would be more than welcome to recuperate here with us. I hope that's okay with you."

She felt Sherlock drop a kiss to the top of her head. "Of course it is. I'm glad you suggested that to her. Goodness knows I can never repay her for everything she has done for me over the years."

"Oh, and another thing," said Molly tentatively, turning her head to look up at him. "I was talking to Nikki today about our Disney trip and it brought to mind the fact that we haven't been to Finsbury Park this year. I was wondering," she hesitated, not sure of what Sherlock would think about her idea, "if we could go there tomorrow afternoon. Seeing as we still have a couple days before we head to Sussex, I thought it might be a nice way to spend time as a family and use it as a distraction to take our minds off our sorrow."

"I like that idea," responded Sherlock. "I think my dad would have approved as well. Let us go and inform the children."

He stood then and helped Molly to her feet as well. Then they went to tell the children.

Molly was pleased to see the way their faces lit up at the news. She knew they had not expected to go to the funfair at Finsbury Park because they had had such a big holiday to America.

Later that night, Molly put on the short satin pyjamas that had been a hen night gift from Lori Lestrade. She didn't wear pyjamas very often and these had seen the most wear during the Disney trip because the twins had been sleeping in the same room at the resort hotel. As she settled into bed beside Sherlock, Molly thought it would indeed be nice to do something that would help keep them from thinking too much about the days ahead and the sadness that would be part of it when the day of the funeral arrived.

"Good night, sweetheart," she said softly, and Sherlock pulled her close to him. She knew instinctively that he just wanted to hold her, nothing more. She didn't know how long it would be before he felt ready to make love with her as they were used to doing most nights. That would be his call and she would give him as long as he needed. For now, she knew his grief was too present for him to be concerned with intimacy that went beyond cuddling.

She curled her fingers over his hand as it rested in front of her body, threading their fingers, and slept.

* * *

**Author's note:** I did enjoy writing the hairdressing scene - hope you did too. I am well acquainted with the joys of wild, foil-wrapped hair.

Did you enjoy seeing Mrs. Hudson enter the story? Did I blow your mind with the revelation of Mycroft and his father's first name? I've seen the name Siger crop up in a lot of stories so decided to join the bandwagon on it for my own canon universe.

If you are interested in knowing about Molly's kidnapping during her engagement to Sherlock, it is chronicled in _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage,_ my very first story which is the mothership for all that I've written since. In addition, the talk about the Disney trip - well, I have a WIP that chronicles that trip which I began writing in March of this year. Thanks to that story, I already had the building blocks for a lot of the information about Sherlock and Molly's family unit when I felt led to write this one. I hope to finish and publish that one next year.

As always, I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this rather long (sorry about that) chapter. But then again, all the chapters in this story are longer than usual.


	6. A Welcome Distraction

Sherlock woke in the darkness to find that his hand was resting on Molly's sweetly curved breast, over her pyjama top. For a moment he felt irritated. Why was she wearing pyjamas to bed when they usually slept naked? Then he remembered and understood. She was being the considerate wife as usual, knowing he was in pain over the loss of his father. She didn't want him to think he must play the dutiful husband and force himself to indulge in their usual physical intimacies while he was not in a state of mind to fully enjoy the activity. And she was right. His thoughts were still focussed too much on his sorrow to allow himself the freedom to enjoy the usual delights of the marriage bed.

With a sigh, he slid his hand away from where it had been resting to a more neutral position over her stomach. _Perhaps I'll be ready tonight,_ he thought to himself.

Molly sighed a little as well and he realised she was awake. He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "I'm sorry, Molly, I just...can't...right now," he murmured, knowing she would understand what he meant.

She turned then to face him and looked into his eyes. "Sherlock, it's okay. You don't need to apologise or explain. I'm here for you in whatever way you need me. All I care about right now is helping you get through this."

Sherlock touched his forehead to hers. "Thank you for understanding, sweetheart."

She smiled at him then turned back away, bringing his arm again across her body so they could sleep a little longer. Judging from the dim light filtering into the room he deduced it would be at least another hour before the children were up, and he closed his eyes.

Unfortunately, after fifteen minutes, Sherlock was still unable to sleep. This was not unusual. Once his brain had been activated for the day, unless there was some external influence that made him sleepy, most commonly the release of chemicals following a lovemaking session, he remained awake and alert.

Much as he enjoyed cuddling with Molly, he was not one for long periods of inactivity so he quietly withdrew from her and got dressed, then picked up his phone.

He walked quietly downstairs and turned on the kettle, then sat on a stool at the kitchen island counter and waited for the kettle to boil. He closed his eyes and prayed silently, feeling he had neglected talking to God over the past several days. He prayed for peace, for comfort, not only for himself, but for the whole family.

When he opened his eyes, he looked at his phone and saw a notification about the Verse of the Day that had come through from the Holy Bible app. He clicked on the notification to bring up the verse properly and read the following:

**2 Corinthians 4:18**

_So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal._

Sherlock drew in a breath. It was as if the words were meant specifically for him. Even though the verse was not one that spoke about loss, he was reminded that everything he was experiencing was temporary, that there was an unseen, permanent home ahead for him one day where he would again see his father. The idea served to comfort him.

_Thank you, Lord, _he prayed silently even as the kettle clicked off. After making his coffee, Sherlock checked his phone for messages. He had not bothered to check it the evening before.

Now he saw there was a rather lengthy text message from Lestrade that had come in the previous evening.

_Sherlock, I was talking to John today and he told me the sad news. I'm terribly sorry for your loss. If I wasn't swamped at work right now, I'd pack up Lori and the kids to come down for the funeral, but unfortunately there are several people on holidays right now and I can't get away. Please pass on my condolences to the rest of your family. Lori said to tell you that you are all in her prayers too."_

Sherlock felt the heavy press of sorrow come upon him once more as he answered the text.

_Thank you, Greg, and thank Lori too. All prayers are gratefully accepted._

He had just sent off the text when he heard movement upstairs and knew the rest of the house was stirring. With that in mind, he got Molly's coffee ready for her, then waited for the horde to stampede down the stairs.

Within fifteen minutes the rest of the family was downstairs, eating breakfast at the dining room table.

The funfair would not open until noon so the morning was spent in various activities, reading, watching television, playing with the animals.

Shortly before noon, Molly asked Sherlock if he would braid her hair for her. The previous year she had kept it down at the funfair and the breeze had made a mess of her hair, as it had also done with the hair of their daughters.

Even though Molly had braided her own hair for years before Sherlock had begun doing it during their engagement, she always said his braids were neater, the strands of a more even thickness. He was rather proud of that compliment and was always happy to braid Molly's hair when asked. In fact, he enjoyed braiding his daughters' hair too, which he did this time as well, while Molly was making sandwiches for lunch.

Sherlock had finished braiding Christina's hair and was working on Victoria's when his younger daughter asked Molly, "Can't we just eat lunch at the funfair?"

Sherlock had to smile at Molly's firm tone as she answered her daughter. "We will already be eating dinner there and I expect, if you behave, we will also buy candy floss and ice cream. That will be enough fast food for one day."

Once Victoria's hair was finished, she turned to him and kissed his cheek.

After that, there were no more complaints.

Finsbury Park was only a fifteen minute walk away from their house in Harringay. It was a lovely summer day, so the family set out on foot.

Christina, in typical fashion, was trying to hurry everyone up, but Sherlock refused to walk at more than a leisurely pace as he held Noah's hand and Molly held Scott's. Sherlock would obviously have preferred to hold his wife's hand, but family duty came first. He would get the opportunity to do that once they were at the funfair anyway.

The boys were naturally very excited about it; this would only be their second trip to the popular funfair. On the one occasion before that, when Sherlock and Molly had gone with Victoria and Christina, the boys had been left with Nanny Hooper for the day.

As Sherlock thought of his mother-in-law, he was reminded that she was still unaware of recent events. Molly had told him her mother was at a retreat with women from her church this week at which they had been asked to keep their mobile phones turned off in order to keep their focus on spending quiet time together and with God. She was only expected to return home Saturday evening and would only receive Molly's text message about what had happened when she turned on her mobile. Sherlock had told Molly to make sure her mother didn't feel obligated to come to Sussex for the funeral on such short notice either.

After they arrived and Sherlock purchased a huge number of ride tokens, Christina immediately tugged on his hand. "Can we go on the grown-up rides this year, Daddy?" she asked him hopefully. The previous year only Victoria was tall enough for the thrill rides and she hadn't been interested in those, so everyone had stuck to the family-friendly ones.

"I guess we will have to see if you are tall enough now," responded Sherlock. He had the feeling if Christina wanted to go on the thrill rides, he would be the one to take her. Molly had told him in the past that she did not enjoy the ones that spun around, that they made her queasy, and the previous year she had made a comment that she also did not like rides that went upside-down.

"Well, everyone, shall we go on some rides first or head for the amusements?" asked Molly.

The children immediately began arguing and finally Sherlock raised his hand to settle them. "We will start with the kid rides," he announced. Before anyone could argue he added, "After all, we don't want to have to carry around all the prizes we shall be winning from the amusements."

Fortunately his logic, even if it was a little arrogant to presume they would all be successful in winning prizes, was enough to make the children nod their assent.

"Sherlock?" said Molly as the children were seating themselves on one of the rides designed for children as they stood outside the gated area to watch.

"Hmm?" he responded, looking at Molly and the way the sunlight caused the red highlights in her hair to glow. She looked utterly exquisite, he thought for no doubt the millionth time.

"There's a Ferris wheel."

He looked at her, a little confused. He knew quite well there was a Ferris wheel. It was a new addition to the park and rather hard to miss from the road. "I may be fifty, Molly, but I'm not blind quite yet," he told her with a twist to his lips.

"Don't be silly," she said, slipping her hand into his. "Don't you remember the dream you had when Victoria was a few weeks old? You know, the one where we met at uni and you took me to Finsbury Park for the Easter funfair and we rode on a Ferris wheel?"

The penny dropped and Sherlock smirked. "Of course I remember. That's where we shared our first kiss in the dream, on the Ferris wheel, the one I conjured in my mind that never existed in real life, probably as a result of the real kiss we shared on the Santa Monica Ferris wheel when we were in California."

He remembered all those dreams he had had, most notably during the time he had been reading Molly's wedding present to him, a diary she had kept that spanned the years from shortly before they had met until their wedding. Both of them had experienced a good number of "what if?" dreams, prompted by discussions on how things might have been different for them if he had only recognised his love for her earlier. The dream to which she was referring though would always be a vivid memory, if you could call a dream a memory, because the dream version of himself had fallen in love, if undeclared, with Molly before he had faked his death and they had had an on-again, off-again secret relationship for years before the events of Sherrinford finally prompted the love declaration.

Unlike the dream, where he knew he loved Molly but was too stubborn to say the words, the reality was that Sherrinford and that phone call he had been forced to make to Molly had been the catalyst for Sherlock finally recognising he loved her, in fact _had _loved her for years without recognising his emotions of tenderness for her as such.

"Well?" his wife said now, raising an eyebrow at him expectantly.

"You wish for me to kiss you at the top of the Ferris wheel, don't you?" he deduced.

This time it was Molly's turn to smirk, "That I do, Mr. Holmes."

"And what about the children being in the carriage with us at the time? Don't you think they will disapprove of our public display of affection?" he questioned teasingly.

Molly giggled. "Sherlock, we've never let that stop us before. Anyway, if you recall, we did more than just kiss when the boys shared our room during the Disney trip." She waved at the children who were now going round and round on the ride.

Sherlock dutifully followed her lead and waved as well, even as he recalled that time only a few weeks earlier. Of course, they had made sure the boys were well and truly asleep before indulging in their usual nightly activities. He supposed some people might be shocked at the thought of it, but really, he and Molly had been very quiet and their sons had had no idea of what their parents had been up to. The closest call was the one morning where Scott had got up before them and wondered why Mummy's pyjamas and Daddy's boxers were on the floor, and she had hastily explained that it had been hot, so they had taken them off during the night.

For the first time since his father's death, Sherlock realised he missed that intimacy with Molly. Yes, tonight would be different, he felt sure of it. He was ready to put aside his sadness for awhile and appreciate the fact that he was still here and he had a wife who loved him.

For the next hour and a half, the Holmes family moved from ride to ride. For most of the kid rides, Sherlock and Molly remained outside and watched their children.

The one notable exception was the dodgem cars. Sherlock rode with Scott, Molly and Noah shared a car, and Victoria and Christina also shared one. Sherlock allowed Scott to steer for the most part, but teasingly took over the wheel and nudged it into Molly and Noah's car at one point, an action that earned a glare from his wife. After that, he behaved himself and Scott did an admirable job of going round and round the track, avoiding the other cars.

Once they got off the ride, Molly strode up to Sherlock and smacked him on the arm. "That was completely unnecessary, Sherlock," she told him crossly.

Sherlock grinned unrepentantly. "I was just trying to re-create that long ago dream where I bumped into you on the dodgem cars. As I recall, you called me out on it afterwards as well."

Molly's lips quirked upwards at that. "You never told me about that part of the dream," she said and Sherlock shrugged. It would have been impossible to recount every moment of that incredibly vivid dream that spanned a great deal of time, from their short time of knowing one another at uni up until after the events of Sherrinford. He still sometimes wondered what it would've been like if he and Molly had really met at that earlier point in their lives. They had just missed one another at Queen Mary University of London by one year.

Soon after the dodgem car ride, they purchased some candy floss to share and sat on some benches to rest before heading over to the thrill rides which Christina had been so anxious to try.

After the candy floss was all gone, Christina immediately led the way to the Deep Impact ride. It was one which moved seated rows of people up and around over and over in a sideways motion. The height requirement was such that even the boys would be permitted to ride. it.

Molly looked at it doubtfully. "I not sure if my stomach could take that one," she commented.

"It doesn't go around in a circle so it shouldn't make you dizzy," pointed out Sherlock. "Come on, love, give it a try."

"Oh, alright then," she responded and the five of them waited their turn to go on the ride.

This particular ride could accommodate a large number of people so it didn't take long before Sherlock and Molly flanked their children on it. He quite enjoyed the ride although the movement certainly caused his hair to become a rather tangled mess at the end of it, as it did with the boys. Moly and the girls of course, with their braids, didn't have to worry about that, he thought a little enviously.

Fortunately, a quick tousle of the curls afterwards was enough to return his hair into some semblance of order, and the boys followed his lead.

Molly, who had conceded the Deep Impact ride had been tolerable after all, was persuaded to go on the giant swing ride next with the rest of the family, although she protested at first that she wasn't sure how well she would handle the circular motion.

Sherlock couldn't help feeling a little amused at the way his wife looked a little dizzy at the end of it. She could perform post-mortems and see many grisly things with no problem, things that would make others feel sick, but funfair rides could turn her stomach.

She seemed able to read his thoughts as usual as they walked to the exit gate of the ride, following their children. "Stop smirking, Sherlock. I might have a lower tolerance for these rides that make me feel sick, but if you recall, you were not much better when it came to watching me give birth to our children or when it came time to have the needle inserted for my epidural for Victoria."

"Touché, my love," he murmured, dropping a kiss to the top of her head and sliding his arm around her waist while his other hand finger-combed his hair back into position once more.

Christina then led the way to the Booster ride, an enormously high construct that had carriages at either end which swung up and over and around.

When they reached the entrance to the ride, the boys were disappointed to discover they were not tall enough, but Christina was delighted that she met the height requirements as long as she was accompanied by an adult.

Sherlock knew there was no way Molly would go on that one so he volunteered to take Christina and Victoria while Molly stayed to watch with the boys.

"I'm not going on that," said Victoria categorically, and it was decided that Sherlock would go on the ride with Christina while the rest of the family stood in line to get some chips for dinner. The lines for food were almost as long as that for the Booster ride which could not accommodate many riders at one time.

By the time Sherlock and a bubbling-over-with-excitement Christina exited the ride, the rest of the family was already seated a little distance away, eating.

Molly had purchased enough chips for everyone to share, some with sauce and some doused with salt and vinegar.

As soon as they had finished eating, Christina was ready to head for the next ride but Molly restrained her daughter. "You are not going on any rides so soon after dinner, Christy. I know you think you have a cast iron stomach, but I'm not taking any chances on you getting sick," she said firmly, then looked over at Sherlock who was on the other side of the table. "Why don't we spend some time on the amusements now?" she suggested.

"Good idea," responded Sherlock.

For the next hour they tested out the various amusements. Molly scolded Sherlock when he was trying to demonstrate the correct way to spin the rings for the ring toss and how to gauge the distance correctly.

"Just let them have fun, Sherlock," she told him and Sherlock frowned.

"We are not wasting our money on these if there are no prizes at the end of it," he huffed.

Molly folded her arms. "Well then, I suppose _you_ will have to win the prizes for them when they don't succeed," she challenged.

"I will do exactly that," he proclaimed, without a hint of modesty.

So, Sherlock allowed the children to go first on the amusement of choice, at which inevitably they failed in procuring a prize. He thought rather darkly that if Molly would just allow him to show how it was done first, they would have had a better chance. Nevertheless, he was pleased to see his keen hand and eye coordination skills were still present, and he was able to win a plush toy for each of the children in the end via several different amusements. Granted, it had taken two tries on a couple of occasions, but he still felt sufficiently smug about his success by the end of it. He calculated mentally that the cost of buying the toys separately would have been higher than the money that had been expended to win them, despite the failures of his children. Well, Christina had actually come closest to succeeding on one occasion when the ring she was tossing had just missed its target by less than an inch. Poor Victoria had no coordination whatsoever when it came to amusements though, but she laughed it off.

Molly too was no better but Sherlock suspected she wasn't even trying because she made comments like, "Oh dear, I missed again, how _tragic_."

Yes, her word selection indicated she was definitely needling him to see if she could get a reaction on the couple of occasions where he too was not immediately successful. "Oh no, Sherlock, you missed, how _unfortunate_. There must be something in your eyes, blurring your vision." His wife could be so provoking sometimes when she thought he was being too arrogant about his skills. Worst of all was the fact that the children took up their mother's lead after his unsuccessful attempts, and he was tempted to keep the toys for himself, just as a matter of principle.

_You're a grown man, Sherlock; a little teasing won't kill you, _ he chided himself at last, once the fourth toy had been won and he smugly presented the big dinosaur to Noah who had said he did not mind if his daddy didn't win him a toy.

"_Now_ can we go to Drop Zone?" pleaded Christina, splaying her free hand on her small hip.

Sherlock patted her head fondly. "Lead the way, poppet."

At the ride, which Scott and Noah were just tall enough to be allowed to go on, Molly and Victoria elected to remain behind and hold the plush toys. Before they headed to the line for the ride, Molly pulled Sherlock close and whispered, "Don't forget I want my ride on the Ferris wheel before we leave."

Sherlock nodded. After the ride, which Christina loved and the boys complained had been a bit too much for their stomachs - a feeling which Sherlock secretly shared but refused to say out loud, it was time to get some Mr Whippy ice cream.

They sat on benches, licking their ice cream cones and looking around at the people passing by. Sherlock could tell the boys were starting to get tired. They had been there for several hours after all, and they still needed to walk home.

After finishing her ice cream, Christina demanded that she wanted to still go on the Show Time ride, another big one which had a lot of spinning movement. Sherlock was not keen on the idea but Molly and the other children were still eating, so he went over to the ride with Christina. To her disappointment and his relief, Christina was not yet tall enough for the ride and they returned to the rest of the family.

By this time, everyone had finished their ice creams and the decision was made to go on the Ferris wheel and then head home.

As they walked together, Molly slipped her hand into Sherlock's and said quietly, "This is what I've been looking forward to all day."

He gave her a smouldering look. "Perhaps I should not kiss you to punish you for your comments earlier when I was trying to win those toys for our children."

Molly pouted. "You know I was just teasing, honey. You wouldn't deny me one kiss at the top of the Ferris wheel, would you?" She batted her eyelashes at him and he laughed. He could never deny his wife anything.

They reached the line for the Ferris wheel and stood patiently.

Sherlock and Molly had to sit across from one another in the carriage so that the weight would be more evenly distributed. The boys squeezed in beside Sherlock and the girls beside Molly. Fortunately the carriage was not too huge and Sherlock knew he would be able to lean forward sufficiently to give his wife a kiss at the top.

The Ferris wheel stopped and started slowly as groups of people got out of the carriages and new ones got in. When they were nearing the top, Sherlock said to the children, "When we get to the top, I want you to close your eyes."

"Why, Daddy?" questioned Noah, and Molly smirked at her husband.

"Because you will probably not want to see what happens once we reach the top," he told the children with a smirk of his own.

Christina looked at him suspiciously. "Are you and Mummy going to be inappropriate again like you always are with your public displays of affection?"she asked, folding her arms. Oh yes, Mycroft had taught his nieces well, mused Sherlock, remembering other similar reactions from her and smug smiles from Mycroft when she or Victoria talked that way.

"Possibly." Then he corrected himself. "Actually, definitely."

Victoria rolled her eyes and the boys just looked a little confused.

As they reached the top, the children except Victoria, who was frowning at them in a very Mycroft-like manner, closed their eyes obediently.

Sherlock shrugged and leaned forward, as did Molly. Their lips met in a sweet, chaste kiss, hardly anything Victoria could consider inappropriate, but his daughter let out a huff of annoyance anyway.

Sherlock returned to his previous position as did Molly, and Victoria said, " You can open your eyes now. They've finished snogging." Sherlock rolled his eyes, a chaste kiss could hardly be referred to as a snog, a term he always felt to be a crude one. "Victoria, my dear, that was not in any way considered snogging. It was the tiniest of kisses. I love your mother and you will not dictate how I behave in public with her," he said in no uncertain terms as Molly blushed a little and dimpled at him.

"Adults!" huffed Christina as the boys merely looked wide-eyed. They were still a bit young to have any opinion one way or another about their parents kissing in public or otherwise.

The Ferris wheel was soon filled with new occupants and it made several rotations as the children had a good view of the funfair. Noah almost dropped his toy dinosaur when he pointed into the distance. "I think I can see our house!"

Sherlock looked in that direction. It was entirely possible, although from this distance one could not really distinguish individual characteristics of the houses, clustered together in groups as they were, with adjoining walls to their neighbours.

Once they got off the Ferris wheel, the family headed to the exit of the park. It had been a good day and Sherlock suddenly realised he had actually had fun. He had not thought about his dad all afternoon. Yes, life did go on. In addition, nobody had disturbed the family by coming up and asking for an autograph. It was a relief that most people these days respected his privacy, something he had asked for before during interviews with the press when a reporter got too nosy.

The boys were obviously weary in their slow footsteps and Sherlock took pity on them, offering to give Noah a piggyback ride as Molly did the same with Scott. They progressed at a faster pace after that and were soon back in the comfort of their own home. It wasn't until after they had left the noise and bustle of the park behind, that Sherlock realised how nice it was for there to be only the sound of traffic passing by rather than the loud music that played on so many of the rides. It was rather remarkable really that nobody had developed a headache from that loud music and constant thrum of bass drums. He was glad to be home.

As a special treat for the weary children, Molly prepared cups of hot chocolate for them which they drank before going upstairs to have baths - well, a shower in Victoria's case, and get ready for bed. By nine o'clock, all four children were safely tucked into bed with their new toys.

Sherlock took a shower while Molly went downstairs and cleaned up the hot chocolate mugs. As soon as he was out of the shower, she went in for her own.

When she returned to the bedroom in her satin pajamas, she asked Sherlock, "Would you mind taking out my braid?" She had not washed her hair because it had been washed only the day before at the hairdresser.

Sherlock complied, moving back on the bed and opening his legs so that Molly could sit in front of him at the edge of the bed.

Gently he withdrew her hair from the braid and then trailed his fingers through it, admiring the way it left her hair in waves. She was so beautiful and he loved her so much.

He swept her hair away from her neck then and kissed it even as he massaged her shoulders. Then his hands moved to reach beneath her pyjama top and he caressed her breasts. Molly let out a little sigh of pleasure as he did so.

Sherlock felt that old, familiar ache within him rise to the surface and knew he was ready. They had actually not made love in more than a week. Molly's menstrual cycle had just been ending on Sunday when they had received the phone call about his father being in hospital, and now he yearned to share that intimacy with her again, to express his love and devotion for her physically.

He pulled her closer towards him, moving his hands to the base of her top so he could pull it off.

Molly stopped his movement and turned her head towards him then. "Sherlock, are you sure you want to do this? Don't feel like you have to, just because you want to please me."

He grasped her hand then and thrust it between their bodies so that she would be quite certain he was ready and willing, and he heard the sharp intake of her breath as she became aware of his own desire.

"You're not making me do anything, love," he said huskily, and then he turned her, pushing her gently down onto the bed.

They kissed then for some minutes, lingering, passionate kisses, just savouring one another in the precursor to the proper return to intimacy they both longed for. This time when Sherlock reached to remove the pyjama top, Molly lifted her arms willingly and he pulled it off, then buried his face in the valley between the sweet curves of her breasts, kissing the skin before moving his mouth to pay homage to those luscious mounds that never failed to tempt him with their softness.

He removed the rest of their clothes and his hands and mouth paid close attention to those enticing parts of his wife's body that had been neglected for almost a week. The sounds of pleasure Molly made heightened his own desire for her as she responded to his sensual assault.

"Enough, Sherlock, I need you!" she finally gasped fitfully, her breaths short and uneven, gripping his shoulders with her hands, and he rose to his knees, satisfied that he had been able to evoke such a thrilling response. It didn't matter how many times they had explored one another's bodies, every time was still exquisite in its uniqueness.

Their eyes met and held as finally Sherlock allowed himself to loosen the iron grip on his control and abandon himself to the ultimate fulfillment of being with his wife in every sense of the word. His mind was filled only with the knowledge that this was the woman who had been created for him, for whom he too had been created. Their love over the years had deepened and matured. This perfect union was the culmination of that love and he revelled in it, spurred on by Molly's continuing gasps as they made love, her face flushed with a passion he knew matched his own.

Finally they lay together afterwards as, trembling in the aftermath of that mutual ecstasy, he held her close and kissed her hair, her cheeks, her sweet lips, murmuring his love for her as she reciprocated with her own words of devotion.

It had been the perfect end to a wonderful day spent with his family. Sherlock knew in the back of his mind that the sadness would creep in again, but for now, he was content.

Smiles adorned both of their lips as they held one another and slept.

* * *

**Author's note: **Once again, a lot going on in this chapter. I put in a lot of research for this one, details of Finsbury Park are as accurate as I could make them, using resources from online like YouTube videos. I used a bit of creative license to add the Ferris wheel. Being set in 2027 I figured it was possible and I really wanted to have that little kissing scene. Those of my readers who have read _Sherlock's Dream of What Might Have Been_ will recognise my reference to the kiss on the Ferris wheel and the bumper car scene. The little reference to their time at Disney is something that has already been written in my as-yet-unpublished Disney story which is still unfinished.

I have to thank my dear friend, **Wandering Soprano**, again here for her help with correct English terms and Mr Whippy.

So here finally is the reason why I gave an M rating to this story. I hope you felt there was an organic transition into the love scene, that it made sense at this point. Do you think I gave it the sensitivity it deserved?

If you have children, do they have the same reactions to their parents kissing?

Wasn't it sweet of Sherlock to win those toys for his offspring? I feel like he would be very good at amusements (or carnival games as we would probably call them here).

Your support with follows/favourites/feedback is always appreciated.


	7. A Quieter Day

Molly yawned ad stretched languorously, wondering why she felt so content. Then she remembered, feeling Sherlock's arm looped over her naked body. Yesterday had been such a fun day, one that she would always remember, time with the children, watching Sherlock act like his usual confident (and sometimes annoying, like with the bumper cars incident) self. Then there was a sweet kiss at the top of a Ferris wheel.

When Sherlock had initiated things later that night in the bedroom, Molly had at first been concerned that he might be only doing it for her benefit, but his actions had proved otherwise. He had definitely demonstrated that he was ready to move things forward once again and she had been more than happy to return to their usual, at least for them, level of intimacy. A few hours later when she had woken to feel Sherlock's hands moving along her body as he feathered kisses on her skin, she had done her part as well, using her own hands and mouth to express the depth of her love.

Now she turned in his embrace, noting by the light filtering into the room that it was almost time to get up. Sherlock had always had an inner alarm clock when it came to rising in the morning and she had found over the years that she too often woke shortly before the alarm. Right now there was no alarm set as there were no specific activities planned that required their attention - no case for Sherlock, no need to go to the hospital for a day of work there. The children tended to sleep in a little longer during school holidays but Christina was usually up by eight o'clock and Molly preferred to be up already before the children rose so she could have her morning coffee to get her day going.

As she faced Sherlock, Molly saw his eyes were open, their aquamarine depths still heavy lidded from sleep. "You're not getting up already, are you?" he questioned, raising his hand and lazily tracing a finger along her hip.

Molly smiled at him. "Already? It's almost eight o'clock."

He blinked sleepily. "It is?" His body moved against hers rather suggestively. "Are you sure you wouldn't like to just stay in bed a little longer?"

_Wow,_ Molly thought in some amusement, _he's trying to make up for lost time._ "I'm sorry, honey," she apologised. "Tempting as the thought is, there's this small matter of four children who will be up and about soon."

He made a face. "Remind me why we had children?"

She bent forward to press her lips against his quickly, then took up his hand and removed it from its progression down her body. _Cheeky bugger._ She was in no doubt that if she had allowed him to continue, he would have followed through, children or no children. "So they can take care of us in our old age," she quipped.

He groaned and sat up. "Well, if I am not to be permitted to indulge once more in the delights of your delectable body, I suppose I too shall get up now."

She smirked up at him. "I thought you already _were _up," she told him cheekily.

His eyes glittered dangerously. "Don't tempt me, Mrs. Holmes."

She flashed him an unrepentant grin. A little innuendo was always fun. "Alright, I'll behave. But I do thank you for your eloquent words. It's nice to know you think me still so delectable after so many years."

He swooped back downwards to capture her lips with his own and give her a sensual kiss that made her wish they really could stay in bed. Reluctantly, she pulled away though afterwards and got out of bed, finding clothes to wear for the day. Sherlock followed her lead and soon they were walking downstairs together hand-in-hand like a pair of love-struck teenagers.

It wasn't long before Christina was bounding down the stairs and demanding breakfast. The boys followed soon after, still in their pyjamas. Victoria did not appear and Molly decided she could sleep in if she wished.

As they ate breakfast at the dining table, Sherlock's phone pinged and Molly saw him look at it then make an annoyed exclamation.

"What's wrong?" she asked, peering at his irritated expression over her raised coffee cup.

"I'm an idiot!" he declared. "I just got a text from Mycroft reminding me that Reverend Brown has not yet received our directions for the order of service for the funeral. It needs to be done by this afternoon."

Mention of the word 'funeral' caused the children to pause in their eating and suddenly look sad, as it brought back to the forefront their sorrow on losing their grandfather. Molly herself had allowed thoughts of the upcoming difficult days to be pushed aside for a little while. Now, reality burst that little happy bubble that had been floating around her since the previous day.

"Why don't we look at that after breakfast then?" she suggested. She looked at the boys. "Scott, Noah, do you think you can find your own clothes to wear today so I can help Daddy?"

"I can help them," offered Christina and Molly smiled at her second daughter.

"Thank you, sweetie. That would be very helpful. When you go back upstairs, can you get Victoria up as well? She's slept in long enough."

"Okay, Mummy," responded Christina.

After breakfast, the boys headed upstairs while Christina helped Molly put the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher and Sherlock booted up his laptop.

Christina then went upstairs to help her brothers while Molly sat next to Sherlock at the table.

He pulled up the email from Reverend Brown which contained an attachment with a sample order of service.

The first thing they needed to do was find two scripture passages.

Moly took up her iPad to do a search for appropriate ones and she and Sherlock agreed on **Romans 8:38-39**.

_For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord._

"I have a suggestion for the other Bible reading," said Molly, turning her head towards Sherlock.

He looked back at her and before she had a chance to speak, said, "Psalm twenty-three."

Molly's brows lifted in surprise. "How did you know I was going to suggest that?"

"I didn't," he admitted. "I was just remembering that line from it- '_Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death-'"_

"'_I will fear no evil'_," Molly finished for him. "Yes, it was used at my dad's funeral. I like that version of it too, it's the New King James one."

"Then we shall request it be read as that version," responded Sherlock, nodding.

Molly looked at the order of service again. That was the scripture passages settled, now they needed to select a hymn. She opened her mouth to make a suggestion when the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs caused her to lift her head and see it was Victoria.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," she greeted her daughter.

Victoria did not respond and as she came closer, Molly saw her eyes looked red and she was holding her phone in her hand.

"What's wrong, darling?" she asked her daughter, patting the chair on her other side that was empty. "Come sit down and tell me what's wrong."

Victoria did as she was told and then looked at Molly. "I wasn't sleeping, Mummy. I heard everyone go downstairs earlier. I...was working on something."

She placed her phone on the table.

"What was it, princess?" asked Sherlock, using the only pet name he used for Victoria when he wasn't calling her by her given name. Molly knew he tended to only use it when he was being gentle with her.

Victoria bit her lip. "When I woke up this morning I was thinking about Grandpa and missing him so I wrote a poem to him. I know he's with Jesus now, but I just wanted to write something."

"You did? That's lovely, sweetheart." Molly herself used many assorted pet names interchangeably for the children. "Did you want to share it with Daddy and me?"

Victoria nodded slowly and unlocked her phone screen then went to her notes app and opened it to reveal several lines of text. She handed the phone to Molly.

As Molly read through the poem her eyes began to blur with tears. The words her daughter had read were so heartfelt and sad, yet they also spoke of the hope she held at one day being able to see her grandpa again.

Tears trickled down Molly's cheeks as she continued to read. When she had finished, she passed the phone to Sherlock who had been intently watching her face rather than the phone. Then she put her arms around her daughter and hugged her.

"That was beautiful, Victoria. I'm so proud of you."

Victoria wiped her eyes which had begun to leak tears again. "You really think so, Mummy?"

"I know so," Molly affirmed and turned to look at Sherlock who was now reading the poem for himself. A suspicious moistness gathered in his own eyes and a single tear slid down his cheek as he set the phone down upon finishing reading.

"Victoria," he choked our, and his voice was unsteady, "my sweet little girl." He was unable to continue and Victoria scrambled off her chair and walked to him, bending down and putting her arms around his neck.

"I didn't mean to make you cry, Daddy," she told him, leaning her head against his shoulder.

He rubbed Victoria's back. "That's quite alright, my little princess. I'm so proud of you and your faith. Mummy and I are so happy you know and love Jesus as much as we do." He glanced over at Molly and she smiled at him, cheeks still wet with her own tears. She and Sherlock had discussed how proud they were that their children were sincere in their belief, and they prayed continuously that it would always remain so.

Suddenly, Molly had an idea and addressed her daughter. "Victoria, Daddy and I have been going through the order of the service for Grandpa's funeral next Tuesday. Do you think you might like to share your poem with the congregation?"

Victoria hesitated and sniffled, face still buried in her father's neck. "I don't know, Mummy. I might not be able to get through it without crying."

"I can read it, if you would like me to," offered Sherlock, stroking his daughter's hair. "I would like for people to hear that the faith of a nine-year-old can be as strong as anyone who has been a Christian for many years."

Victoria stood then and smiled at him. "Thank you, Daddy."

"I have to warn you though," said Sherlock, "if my current state is any indication, I may not get through the poem without a few tears of my own."

"Why don't yoU send the poem to us via the messages app, and Daddy can print it out later?" suggested Molly.

"Okay, Mummy." Victoria took up her phone and followed Molly's instructions, then said, "Can I have some breakfast now?"

Molly stood. "Of course. What would you like - toast? Cereal?"

"I'll just have cereal. I can get it myself," responded her daughter and Molly nodded and sat down again.

Victoria chose to eat her cereal seated at a stool by the kitchen counter as Sherlock and Molly returned to their own task.

Molly remembered she had just been about to suggest a hymn to Sherlock. "What do you think about having 'The Old Rugged Cross' as a hymn?" she asked. "I always get lovely chills at the last part of the chorus – '_I will cling to the old rugged cross and exchange it some day for a crown.'_ I know your dad always liked that hymn as well."

"Agreed," responded Sherlock. He looked at the order of service again. "Actually I think that is all we needed to do, a bit easier than I expected."

Molly stood and put her hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you get that sent off to Reverend Brown then. You might want to let Mycroft know as well. Wasn't he going to tell us when he'd be sending the car around for us tomorrow? We'll need to pack this afternoon."

"I'll take care of it, love."

Molly checked the front room and saw it was empty, then went upstairs to find Christina and the boys. The boys were not in their room but she found Christina in her room reading _The Magic Faraway Tree_. The door that led to a terraced area outside her daughter's bedroom displayed a view of the twins sitting at the round latticed table playing a game of draughts.

Molly stepped outside to watch her sons as they played. She observed as Noah missed an opportunity to jump three of Scott's pieces and knew it had been deliberate. She couldn't help the little smile that crept onto her face. Scott tended to sulk when he didm't win and she knew Noah preferred to keep the peace. Molly still remembered years earlier on her honeymoon how she had been upset when Sherlock had been more successful with games than she herself. It had been rather ridiculous. She certainly didn't mind allowing the children to win at games, but she still felt a competitive streak rise within her on the rare occasions she and Sherlock played a game of chess together.

After Scott won the game and the boys set it up to play again, Molly returned inside. She was about to exit Christina's room when she caught sight of a crisp packet half hidden under her daughter's pillow.

"Christina, have you been taking crisps upstairs again without permission?" she asked sternly and Christina looked guilty.

"I was still hungry after breakfast, Mummy," her daughter defended.

Molly put her hands on her hips. "Christina Joy, it is _not_ okay for you to just go into the cupboard whenever you feel like it to take snacks."

Christina pouted. "Then why do you buy them if they aren't supposed to be eaten?"

Molly let out a frustrated sigh. This was a conversation she had had on more than one occasion. "You know the rules. Snacks are for taking to school or if you are feeling hungry and there are still hours to go before your next meal."

"But Mummy, there's no school right now. You don't want the snacks to go stale, do you?" Christina countered. "Besides it's still ages till lunch."

Molly sat down on the bed next to her daughter. "You know that is beside the point. You are supposed to ask, not just take without permission. Now hand me the crisp packet. You are not to have anything else until lunch."

Christina pouted. "You're a meanie, Mummy."

Molly folded her arms. "I will not tolerate that kind of talk, Christina Joy. Daddy and I allow you a lot of freedom for a seven-year-old. We allow you to help Daddy when he is doing experiments. We also bought you your own iPad mini so you can FaceTime Adam. If you keep calling me names I shall take away your iPad for the next week. Am I clear?" She unfolded her arms and held out her hand for the crisp packet.

Christina hung her head. Molly knew the threat of losing her iPad would yield results. "Yes, Mummy. I'm sorry for calling you a meanie." She pulled the half eaten bag of crisps from their almost hidden position and handed it to Molly.

"Thank you," responded Molly, kissing her daughter on the forehead. One of the hardest things about being a parent was knowing how to discipline properly. She stood and headed downstairs, looking at the crisps as she went. They were her favourite - smoky bacon. With a shrug, she decided to polish them off. They were already open anyway.

Sherlock noticed as soon as she returned to the dining area of course. Victoria was nowhere in sight, having presumably gone to her room while Molly was outside watching the twins. "Are those crisps?" he enquired with a raised eyebrow.

"Yes," responded Molly. "Christina took a bag of them upstairs. I saw them and confiscated them because she took them without asking. They're half gone so I thought I'd just eat the rest."

"Care to share?"

"It's only a little bag and Christina already had half of them, but sure," Molly said, passing the bag to Sherlock who took a few of the crisps. "Did you send off the things for Reverend Brown and speak to Mycroft?"

Sherlock chewed and swallowed before responding. "Yep. Sent the email and texted Mycroft. The limo will be here for us at nine o'clock in the morning."

Molly nodded. "Glad that's sorted. After lunch I guess we should get things packed for tomorrow."

Sherlock took another few crisps before saying, "After lunch I'll check with the Dillingers to see if they can feed Redbeard and the cats while we are gone."

"Oh of course. I hadn't even thought about that," admitted Molly. Their neighbours had kindly taken care of the pets in the past when the Holmes family had travelled to Sussex, and Molly and Sherlock had reciprocated by feeding their neighbours' cats as well at times.

Molly put her hand into the crisp bag and discovered it was empty. "Really, Sherlock?" she scolded. "I said I would share, not that you could eat the rest all by yourself."

Sherlock smirked. "You snooze, you lose, baby. You know smoky bacon are my favourite crisps."

Molly poked him. "Well, they are my favourite too and you know it, you git."

"I'll make it up to you tonight, okay?" he promised, bending towards her and kissing her with lips that still retained the tang of the crisps.

"I'm going to hold you to it," she told him once their lips parted. Then they indulged in a more prolonged kiss.

A voice came from a few feet away. "Get a room."

Molly looked over at Victoria, shocked. "I beg your pardon?" She couldn't believe her daughter would say something so rude.

"Uncle Myc said that if you and Daddy are kissing that I should tell you to get a room. I don't know what he meant by it, but well, I thought I'd try it out," Victoria explained, looking a little embarrassed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Victoria, I am not going to explain what it means but it is an inappropriate comment to make to someone. Your uncle was being a Bit Not Good when he told you to say that."

Victoria giggled. "Uncle John says you are the one who was always being told off for being a Bit Not Good when he first knew you. I didn't know Uncle Mycroft was like that too."

"Yes, well, your uncle can be a strange man. In any case, your mother and I can kiss one another whenever we please. We are mature adults and you children will not dictate our activities. I grow weary of your uncle trying to indoctrinate you about what he considers inappropriate behaviour. So no more comments in future, understand? Or I just might kiss your mother even more often." Sherlock's tone was firm and Molly couldn't help feeling rather proud of him. It really was time their children knew Uncle Mycroft was not the authority on everything. Goodness, both girls had been told off today, would the boys be next?

"I'm sorry, Daddy," said Victoria penitently.

"Apology accepted. Now did you want to speak to me or to Mummy?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, I forgot." She turned to Molly. "Mummy, I was wondering if you would show me how to make a crumble for dessert tonight? Remember last week we bought apples and you were going to make it? And when I was eating breakfast, I heard you talking about going to Grandma and Grand.." she paused and continued, "I mean Grandma's tomorrow so this will be our last chance."

Molly realised she had indeed completely forgotten about the bag of apples she had purchased with the intention of showing Victoria how to make crumble. With everything that had been going on over the last few days, it simply had not crossed her mind.

"That's a wonderful idea, sweetheart. We can do that right after lunch before we pack for tomorrow."

Victoria looked pleased and clapped her hands. "Thanks, Mummy!."

And that is exactly what they did. While Sherlock went out to make arrangements with the Dillingers to take care of their pets, then went with the boys to walk Redbeard, Molly and Victoria made the crumble for that evening's dessert. Molly asked Christina if she wanted to help, but Christina declined, choosing instead to practise her violin.

The bags for the trip to Sussex were packed and Molly prepared a dinner of fish fingers and mashed potatoes which was followed by the delicious apple crumble.

A quiet evening ensued. After the busyness of the previous day, Molly found it relaxing just to sit in front of the television screen snuggled up against Sherlock as the children occupied various positions around the sitting room.

After asking for suggestions for what to watch, they settled on an old favourite., _The Prince of Egypt _on Blu-ray. Victoria and Christina always enjoyed singing to the songs, in particular the one called "When you Believe." Molly joined in on that one as well, it was also a favourite of hers. Sherlock sang along with the character of Moses in "All I've ever Wanted" and Molly enjoyed listening to his deep baritone as he did so. It was another of Sherlock's hidden talents he had not displayed before they had been engaged. He himself had not realised how much he enjoyed singing until he had begun to attend church and join in with the hymns. These days Sherlock's voice rang out confidently in the hymns and praise songs at church services.

Sherlock and Molly had even learned an operatic duet together from _Don Giovanni_ early in their marriage. That had come about because Sherlock had been aware that Molly wanted to sing a duet with him at some point. Although they had just learned the duet for fun and explored the sensuality of the seduction duet privately, they had actually had an opportunity to perform it for a hospital talent night when Molly had been pregnant with Christina. Molly had enjoyed the way Sherlock's arms had come about her possessively as they sang and acted out the duet. It was an unforgettable memory that had led to an even more unforgettable night later when they had stayed overnight at the hotel at which the talent night was held, for an early celebration of their second wedding anniversary. Molly's mother had attended the evening and looked after Victoria during the duet and had taken their daughter home with her for the night so Sherlock and Molly could have their private time to celebrate their anniversary.

Before it was time for bed, the family did a devotion together. It was something they tried to do at least twice a week. Either Molly or Sherlock would read the lesson and then ask questions of the children to see how well they understood. Molly reflected that was probably one of the reasons Noah seemed to have such a good understanding about faith despite his young age. Scott had a tendency to get distracted, but that was okay, most children his age didn't have a very long attention span. Noah was the exception rather than the rule when it came to attentiveness.

Finally, the children were settled into bed and Molly got ready for bed as well. She stood in the bedroom in bra and knickers, hesitating over whether to put on her pyjamas or not. Had the previous night been just an anomaly or was Sherlock really ready to return to their regular routine?

Her question was answered when he came into the bedroom after brushing his teeth and undressed completely, then got into bed.

"Are you coming to bed or not?" he asked, looking at her questioningly.

"Of course," she responded, reaching behind herself to remove the clasp of her bra and quickly slipping off her knickers before settling into bed beside her husband.

Sherlock pulled her towards himself. "I promised I'd make it up to you," he told her in a deep, low voice and she saw the love and desire in his eyes that showed her the previous night was definitely not an anomaly. Some hard days still lay ahead, but for now, this was the beginning of their new routine, to be thankful for one another even more than ever before.

Then his lips were on hers as his hands caressed her flesh with reverence. Her own hands moved along chest and back. Most of his scars had faded over the years to be almost invisible, but some of the more severe ones had never disappeared completely, a constant remindeder of the horrors of torture he had endured in Serbia, and she thanked God yet again that he had been saved for her.

It was not long before the always present embers of passion fanned into a flaming inferno that consumed them both with its intensity.

And when the flames died down once again, returning them to earth, they held one another as their heartbeats slowed once more and breathing returned to a regular rhythm. Then they fell into a slumber of deep contentment and fulfillment.

* * *

**Author's note:** So things are progressing in both the funeral arrangements and life in general.

I hope you enjoyed the little things that came up where the two girls required a little loving discipline.

The idea for Victoria's poem was inspired by my own youngest daughter who wrote one for her own grandfather after his passing in August.

Sherlock and Molly's love for smoky bacon crisps was established in my story _A Honeymoon Journey_. I ordered crisps through Amazon especially to try some UK flavours and the smoky bacon ones are to die for! Worth the expense. If I ever get to London, I'll be bringing some back home haha.

There is also a hint in this story to a _Don Giovanni_ duet which will be featured in the story I began that was originally planned for this past summer but will only be published in the new year. The title of that as-yet-unpublished/unfinished story will be _Journey to a New Home_ and it will be a major story in the life of my characters over the June-September period of 2019. I can only apologise that it will not be seen in "real-time" as I like to do with my Journey series stories when possible. Just not enough time to do everything I'd like, unfortunately!

Thank you to all of you who have continued to support me with this story. Your response has made me feel it has been worthwhile to share my own recent journey through loss by giving it a voice through my storytelling. May it continue to comfort and provide hope for readers who may have also been dealing with grief over the loss of a loved one.

**Bonus for my readers** \- After watching a hilarious British tv series recommended by Wandering Soprano called Friday Night Dinner where "crumble" seemed to be the dessert offered on a frequent basis, I just had to look up a recipe for it. So here is what I found. I've made this several times mow although I increase the ingredients by 50% for a 9" x 13" dish instead of a 9" x 9" one. Give it a try and let me know what you think!

**Crumble Recipe**

_For the crumble_

300g/10½oz plain flour, sieved

pinch of salt

175g/6oz brown sugar

200g/7oz unsalted butter at room temperature, cubed, plus a little for greasing

_For the filling_

450g/1lb apples, peeled, cored and cut into 1cm/½in pieces

50g/2oz brown sugar

1 tbsp plain flour

1 pinch ground cinnamon

_Method_

Preheat the oven to 180C/350F/Gas 4.

Place the flour, salt and sugar in a large bowl and mix well. Taking a few cubes of butter at a time rub into the flour mixture. Keep rubbing until the mixture resembles breadcrumbs.

Place the fruit in a large bowl and sprinkle over the sugar, flour and cinnamon. Stir well being careful not to break up the fruit.

Butter a 24cm/9in ovenproof dish. Spoon the fruit mixture into the bottom, then sprinkle the crumble mixture on top.

Bake in the oven for 40-45 minutes until the crumble is browned and the fruit mixture bubbling.

Serve with thick cream or custard. (**Author's Note:** I use ice cream).


	8. The Healing Balm Of Family

Sherlock vaguely heard the alarm and felt Molly pulling away from his embrace to turn it off.

He kept his eyes closed until he felt the brush of her lips against his. "Time to get up, honey. We have an hour to get ready before the limo arrives."

He sat up, wiping at his eyes to remove the sleep from them, or was it residue from tears. He knew he'd dreamed, felt he might have awoken in the middle of the night with tears on his face; but the memory of it was hazy and indistinct and he was not entirely sure it was accurate.

A sudden, stabbing pain hit behind his left eye and he winced. _Not now,_ he thought to himself in concern. _The last thing I need right now is a migraine._

Molly noticed his facial expression change and gave him a worried look. "Are you getting a migraine? You haven't had one of those for months."

Sherlock put his left hand to his left eye and pressed around the socket with his fingers. "I believe so. Perhaps the emotional stress of my father's passing has finally caught up to me." He paused, then added, "Unless it was the rather energetic nature of our activities last night. Although if that were the case, I would probably be experiencing migraines much more frequently."

Molly rolled her eyes at his feeble attempt to make a joke. "Well, either way, you're in pain. Let me get you a sumatriptan tablet," she responded, brushing her thumb along his forehead. "Let's head this off before it gets worse. I'll just wake the children, then I'll be back."

Sherlock watched gratefully as Molly took charge and he laid back down briefly, closing his eyes and listening as she quickly dressed then knocked on doors and urged the children to get up.

Sherlock opened his eyes and sat up again as Molly reappeared a few minutes later with a glass of water. She walked over to Sherlock's side of the bed to dig out one of his rarely used tablets, then handed both to him. "I've already put a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster for you to have when you're dressed."

Sherlock took the tablet and water and swallowed the tablet . He reflected how things had changed since he had been married when it came to migraine control. Before Molly, he would have more often than not endured the migraine without medication, having nobody to look after him. Back then he had also not been able to take sumatriptan because of the nicotine in his system, first from smoking and after that, the nicotine patches. The strongest pain relief he could use was Co-Codanol and it was far less effective. It would lessen the pain somewhat, yes, but the sumatriptan was far more likely to prevent a full-blown migraine if taken at its onset. However, he had noticed the use of the medication did make him prone to drowsiness and nausea, especially if he had an empty stomach. His wife was well aware of this and she always made sure he got something into his stomach soon after taking a tablet if he had not eaten for a while beforehand.

_How did I ever manage without Molly? _he wondered to himself for the thousandth time before saying aloud, "Thanks, love. Sorry about the bad timing. I had intended on helping you get the boys dressed."

Molly leaned over and took the glass, then kissed his cheek. "It's not your fault, sweetheart. I'm not surprised all the stress and activity of the past few days has brought this on, I had to take a couple Panadol yesterday myself when I was making that crumble with Victoria because I felt a headache coming on. Anyway, if the driver has to wait outside for a few extra minutes it won't be a big deal. It isn't as if we need to be in Sussex for a specific time today."

She exited the bedroom and Sherlock proceeded to get out of bed slowly, trying not to exacerbate the pain in his head by too much movement. He dressed rather more slowly than usual and then headed downstairs to the kitchen. Toast with butter and honey was already waiting for him at the table. Victoria and Christina were eating as well but Molly had obviously returned upstairs to help the boys get dressed.

After breakfast, Sherlock began to feel the pain in his head easing somewhat and he returned upstairs to bring down the suitcases and the garment bag carrying his suit and shirt for the funeral, as well as one that held a navy blue dress that Molly planned to wear.

By the time Mycroft's driver arrived, the family was almost ready to go. While the chauffeur took the suitcases and garment bags outside, Sherlock made sure the boys were ready while Molly headed over to the Dillingers with the spare key so they could get into the house to feed the animals and let them out into the backyard during the day.

"Can't we bring Redbeard with us?" asked Scott. He was particularly attached to the Irish Setter.

"I don't think he would enjoy being cooped up in a car for so long," said Molly. She placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "Besides, he'll have Callie and Rusty to keep him occupied while we are gone."

The cats were both at their food bowls and Redbeard was beside them. It was quite remarkable how well the animals got along. Quite often the three of them could be seen snoozing together on a rug during the day.

Goodbyes to the animals were said and the family made their way out to the waiting limo and settled in for the two hour journey south.

Molly cautioned the children to keep their voices to a dull roar because Daddy had a headache, and they complied, for the most part. She had brought along the lateral thinking puzzles she had bought for Sherlock many years earlier that they had enjoyed doing together on several occasions, most notably on their honeymoon. She chose some of the easier puzzles for the children to make guesses on, quietly, of course. More often than not, Christina was the one to land upon the correct answer.

Within a half hour, Sherlock felt his headache lifting substantially and he was able to join in by reading some of the puzzles out loud as well. He was not quite as patient as Molly however, offering to provide clues after only a few minutes if the children were not getting close to the answer.

"There's no hurry, sweetheart. If it takes them a little longer to guess, so much the better. We do have two hours to kill here."

Sherlock smirked at his much-too-patient wife. "When you read out a puzzle, you can do it your way. When I read one out, I'll do it my way."

Molly gave him a playful tap on the shoulder. He had to admit, it was nice to have a little distraction during the journey. The last couple days had been good ones, but the ones ahead would undoubtedly contain a lot of sadness as they thought about the upcoming funeral.

An hour into the journey though, Sherlock no longer felt in the mood to continue with the lateral thinking puzzles and retreated into silence. He closed his eyes, letting the soft chatter of his children drift around him and hearing the occasional voice of Molly entreating them once again to keep their voices down because their daddy was resting.

When the limo pulled into the driveway of the large country estate behind Mycroft's town car which he had driven to Sussex himself on this occasion, the children cheered. They always loved going to Grandma and Grandpa's house. _Of course,_ Sherlock reflected sadly as his stomach tightened, _it is no longer Grandpa's house._ That would take some getting used to. He suddenly realised he did not want his mother to sell the property, that he would be willing to do anything to keep it in the family.

He would have to have a discussion about it with Mycroft, see if they could come to some arrangement between them.

The front door opened and Sherlock's mother came out slowly, leaning on her came. He remembered with some nostalgia how sprightly she had been up until about three years earlier, but now she seemed so much older and careworn, the age lines on her face even more pronounced. Had they been there all this time and he hadn't noticed, or had she aged in the space of a few days?

The elderly woman did not have a chance to walk more than a few steps before she was surrounded by her grandchildren who took turns hugging her and uttering exclamations of love, which brought a smile to her lined face.

Sherlock and Molly waited until their children had finished bombarding his mother with their exuberance, even as the chauffeur got the luggage from the boot of the limo and started bringing it into the house.

As soon as Sherlock and Molly had greeted his mother with affectionate kisses, everyone trooped inside except Sherlock who helped bring in the remaining suitcase and garment bags. The chauffeur then left with the limo for where he was staying a short distance away at a Brighton hotel.

An inviting smell assailed Sherlock's nostrils and he recognised it as fresh baked ginger nuts. He couldn't believe his mother had been baking, but he supposed for her, it was an opportunity for distraction from sad thoughts.

While the children and Molly made the left towards the sitting room where they were told Uncle Mycroft, Auntie Elizabeth and Mark were, Sherlock followed his nose to the right and towards the kitchen from whence the biscuit smell was emanating.

He reached for a biscuit on a dish on the counter and his mother, who had followed him into the kitchen, frowned at him. "Don't go spoiling your lunch now, Sherlock. Those are supposed to be for dessert."

Sherlock smirked through a mouthful of biscuit. "But they always taste best when they are warm."

His mother slapped his hand away. "No more." Her tone was stern but a smile played about her lips.

Sherlock swallowed the last mouthful and regarded his mother seriously. "Mummy, when you came up to London last week, I know you were planning on discussing putting this house up for sale so you could move to London to be closer to us. I've been thinking - I wonder if you would reconsider. Perhaps Mycroft and I can work out an arrangement to provide the funds so you can live in London without selling this house." He swallowed, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. "We have so many memories here. I'd like to know that I can still come here with my family and revisit the good times."

His mother walked towards him, leaning on her cane, then patted his arm gently. He suddenly noticed the chain around her neck on which she had placed his father's wedding ring and a stab of pain washed over him at the sight, but he tried not to let his mother see it. He had to be strong for her. Fortunately, she didn't seem to notice his distress, too concerned in providing comfort to him. "You needn't worry, son. Mycroft already discussed it with your father and myself. He offered to assist us-" here her voice faltered a little, "me to find accommodations without necessitating the sale of this property. The income from the rent we receive from your father's family farm will also help with that."

Sherlock let out a sigh of relief. "I'm so glad, Mummy. As soon as you find a place, Molly and I will be happy to help you in any way we can. If this property can be maintained during your absence, perhaps we can come back each summer with you and spend time here. We love staying here each year for a week during the summer and making day trips to Brighton beach; it's so much better than having to stay in a hotel."

"Mycroft and I were talking about that earlier this morning actually." Sherlock's eyebrows lifted in surprise as she continued. "He made the suggestion that this afternoon, we all go to the beach for a while, just to spend some time together as a family. We can bring a picnic hamper as well with sandwiches and cakes." She gestured around the kitchen and Sherlock saw there were a number of containers on the counters. "People from church have been stopping by for the past few days with more food than I know what to do with. Everyone has been so kind."

"That sounds like a good idea. The children were complaining the other day that they didn't get a chance too go to the beach this year because of our trip to Disney. Just as well we keep extra swimming costumes here. Hopefully they haven't grown out of them."

His mother raised a brow. "Might I see you venture to place your feet in the water yourself for once instead of always making Molly supervise all four children?"

Sherlock flushed; he was not fond of the cold ocean and avoided it at all costs, preferring to sit on a deck chair, watching from a distance while the children enjoyed dipping their feet into the ocean with their mother and playing games of trying to outrun the waves that tickled at their feet when the tide was coming in. "I don't particularly enjoy being in the ocean, Mummy, and you know I usually take charge of taking the children to the sandbox area by the promenade and helping them build sandcastles, but yes, I will make the effort to get my feet wet this time if it would please you." _Just as well it's an unseasonably warm day today, _he thought. The water would probably actually be warmer than usual at this point in the summer as well so he supposed he could endure the unpleasant feeling of squishy wet sand beneath his feet.

"It would indeed please me." There was a touch of her old tartness in her voice that he was relieved to hear. "Well, we should join the others. I'm sure the children will be happy to hear we are going to the beach this afternoon."

Sherlock dutifully followed his mother back out of the kitchen to the sitting room where the family was gathered.

The children were indeed excited at the prospect of going to the beach and Sherlock pulled his brother aside just before lunch to thank him for the thoughtful suggestion.

Mycroft surprised him by saying, "I still have fond memories of trips to the beach with our family too when we were little, although I must admit, I was more interested in the food Mummy would bring along for our picnics than the ocean itself."

A long dormant flash of memory surfaced for Sherlock then and he had a vague recollection of playing pirates on the beach with his friend Victor as his brother stuffed his face with cakes. "We brought Victor with us, didn't we?" he asked. He said the words hesitantly, not certain if his memory was in error.

"On a couple of occasions, yes. I'm surprised you have suddenly recalled something from so long ago. The mind is a truly miraculous thing."

Sherlock shrugged. "Over the years I've found that here and there little fragments of memory have returned to me but sometimes I'm not certain if they are true memories or not."

"Well, in this case you memory is accurate," Mycroft assured him. "Unfortunately, after Musgrave Hall burned down, our parents never had the heart to take us to the beach again. I think it held too many years of Eurus and happier times before her psychosis clearly manifested itself." His next words rendered Sherlock speechless. "I'm glad going to the beach has become a family tradition for you again. Daddy and Mummy would often enthuse about it when they would come to London. Even last week they expressed their disappointment to me that you hadn't been to the beach together this year."

He placed a hand on a mute Sherlock's shoulder. "I don't mean to make you feel guilty, brother mine. I simply wish for you to know how happy it made our parents that you have been including them in your visits to the ocean." His voice held a note of sadness as he added, "Now I wish I had accepted their invitation to take some time off work and join you on these annual trips, but my work has always taken first priority."

Sherlock found his voice. "Mummy and Daddy have always been proud of you too, Mycroft. They've often talked about how much you've changed as well over the last several years. You make time to be with Mark, to be a father to him. You also joined us at Disney World, and Mummy told me how pleased she was that you were taking time away from work for that." His lips tilted upwards slightly. "So, you don't need to feel guilty either. It is what it is, right? I'm just grateful that I've made the last ten years count in a way I didn't for many years before that."

Mycroft's own lips twitched upwards. "Marrying Molly was the single best decision you've made, Sherlock."

"Second best," Sherlock corrected immediately. "Becoming a Christian was the best decision."

"I can see that." Mycroft's tone was serious, thoughtful. Sherlock had noticed that Mycroft's resistance to things of a spiritual nature had definitely diminished over the past couple years, especially since his bowel cancer diagnosis and successful operation to remove the cancerous section of his colon. Sherlock had adamantly declared that the power of prayer had led to Mycroft's cancer free diagnosis a few months after the operation, and Mycroft had actually conceded that perhaps he was right.

While everyone sat down to a lunch of beef and vegetable casserole, left for Mrs. Holmes by one of her church family members, a dish which Sherlock privately felt was far inferior to Kayla's chicken casserole of a few nights before, Mycroft called his chauffeur for pick up within the hour.

The children ate well, despite a grumble here or there from one or the other about too many carrots or not enough beef (Scott and Christina respectively). There were fresh rolls as well to eat with butter or sop up excess gravy from the casserole.

A constant hum of conversation went on around the kitchen table while they were eating, Mark making teasing comments on how big his cousins were getting and how pretty Victoria and Christina were, saying they would soon be having boys run after them. To these comments Victoria blushed.

Christina, however, was not afraid to express her opinion on the subject. "Boys are gross; I'm way too smart for them. And don't get me started on kissing. Daddy and Mummy are very inappropriate with that." Dramatically she put her hands to her face.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at his daughter. This was typical behaviour from her. She liked to proclaim her intellectual superiority and Sherlock couldn't help thinking, as he had done many times before, that she was very like him in that regard. As for the kissing comment, that too would undoubtedly change. He really didn't care what his children though of him kissing their mother in front of them. He supposed now he would need to have a little talk with his second daughter just as he had done with Victoria the previous day.

Victoria folded her arms. "You like Adam and _he's_ a boy."

"He's not a regular boy." Christina's tone was haughty. "he's my _friend_."

Sherlock and Molly glanced at one another and smirked. He was rather glad Christina was not yet into having crushes. John had told him Rosie already had a crush on a boy at school and at times would go on and on about how smart he was and how handsome too. Sherlock wasn't particularly looking forward to when his own daughters started getting serious about boys. He knew only too well what the typical teenage boy was like from his own time at university with his roommates. He of course had been singularly uninterested in women until Molly and still felt a slight sense of pride that he and Molly had followed God's calling to wait for their wedding night to be intimate, not that it had been easy of course. In any case, he and Molly would definitely be stressing the importance of finding a suitable boy, as in another Christian who would have the same ideas on sexual purity before marriage. Oh yes, he would be scrutinising potential suitors very carefully, just as he had done with that guy who had been asked to be an usher at John and Mary's wedding whom he had determined to be unsuitable due to the man's continuing interest in Mary.

At the conclusion of the meal, Sherlock's mother asked him to go upstairs and bring down the box that contained swimming costumes and beach towels she always kept stored for them.

Once this was done, Sherlock dug out the various swimming costumes and trunks, finding an extra that would fit Mark, which had belonged to his father. There was also a bag with flip-flops for the children and Molly, and sandals for himself. Sherlock disdained any footwear that required something to rise between his big toe and the one next to it. There was an additional pair of sandals that had also belonged to Sherlock's father and he took them for Mark, reflecting sadly as he did so about the way his father had joined in the sandcastle building fun with the children on occasion over the years even as Mummy preferred to observe from a distance while in her deck chair. Despite the health issues, his father had never been one to let that prevent him from doing activities with the family, even if he required breaks every now and then to catch his breath.

Sherlock was struggling to juggle both swimming things, footwear and towels when Mycroft appeared. "I can take the towels for you."

"Thank you." Sherlock handed them over to his brother. "I don't see any swimming costumes in here for you or Elizabeth."

Mycroft gave a dry laugh. "I agreed to go to the beach, not to wear swimming trunks. Mummy, Elizabeth and I will remain comfortably seated on deck chairs while you young folks have fun."

Sherlock had to chuckle at that. "Mycroft, I don't know too many people aged fifty who would be considered young, but I accept the compliment."

Mycroft snorted. "You certainly don't act like a fifty-year-old with your wife, more like a teenager; all that hand-holding and inappropriate public displays of affection."

"About that," said Sherlock, sobering. "Would you please stop expressing your personal opinions to my daughters about kissing in public? I'm sick to death of their comments about it. Furthermore, I do not appreciate you telling Victoria to say, 'get a room'."

Mycroft lips twitched upwards. "She really said that, did she? I wasn't sure she would actually take my suggestion seriously."

Sherlock set the swimming costumes on the floor and glared at his brother, folding his arms. "She most certainly did. I suggest you stop filling my daughters' heads with your nonsense about inappropriate expressions of sentiment or I will be forced to tell Mark that your performance as Lady Bracknell in school was so convincing that Mummy was worried for a while you might become a cross-dresser like Uncle Rudy."

Mycroft flushed slightly and Sherlock saw his grip tighten convulsively on the towels. "I would prefer that not become common knowledge."

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow. "So, do we have a deal then? No more talking like that to my children or I will reveal all to your son."

Mycroft sighed. "It appears you have me over a barrel, brother mine. You have a deal."

Sherlock allowed himself a slight smile of satisfaction; he had won a small victory over his brother which didn't happen often. Too bad he hadn't thought about blackmail earlier.

Mycroft gestured with his head at the discarded swimming costumes. "Aren't you going to pick those up now and make sure everyone gets ready? The limo will be here soon to transport us to the beach."

Not bothering to make a verbal reply, Sherlock hastily gathered the swimming things once more and followed Mycroft to the sitting room to distribute them.

Fifteen minutes later everyone was ready to go, with plenty of suncream applied to protect their skin. Fortunately, the children had not outgrown their swimming costumes, although Christina did complain that hers was a little tight. When she was told it was that or nothing though, she stopped complaining.

"If I'd known we would be going to the beach, I would have bought new flip-flops for the boys, but I didn't think we would be going this year," Molly said. He noted that the heels of their sons' feet were slightly past the edges of their flip-flops, but they did not seem bothered by it.

He shrugged. "Couldn't be helped. At least they have footwear. I wouldn't want them to walk on the beach bare-foot." Brighton Beach was well known for its abundance of pebbles. If not for the man-made sandbox, making sandcastles would be impossible.

Molly shuddered. "Definitely not."

They were preparing to head outside when Sherlock's mother made an exclamation. "Molly, dear, what is that lovely necklace you are wearing? I haven't seen that before."

Sherlock gazed at his wife who looked extremely alluring and much younger than her forty-seven years in a one-piece leaf green swimming costume with plunging neckline. She and the girls wore their hair in ponytails and her necklace was clearly visible where it hadn't been earlier beneath her white blouse.

Molly fingered the delicate necklace. "Sherlock gave this to me a couple weeks ago for our tenth wedding anniversary. It's called a journey necklace." She glanced up at him and gave him a loving smile that tempted him to put on one of those public displays of affection his brother so detested.

Sherlock's mother gave him an approving smile. "Such good taste, son. I can hardly believe it has already been ten years you have been married. I still remember that day so clearly in my mind. Your father-" She swallowed, blinked rapidly and continued. "Your father and I were so proud of you that day and you looked so handsome." She looked at Molly then. "Did I ever tell you my husband said to me he thought you were the prettiest bride he had ever seen - outside of myself of course?" She gave Molly a wobbly smile.

Sherlock saw tears in Molly's eyes as she embraced her mother-in-law. "No, you didn't, but thank you for telling me. I'm so glad he was my father for ten years; I thank God so much for him - and you as well."

Mycroft cleared his throat. "We should probably get going now. The hamper and deck chairs are already in the boot, as are the buckets and spades for your offspring."

Sherlock gestured for Molly and the children to precede him, then his mother, and went outside, followed by Mycroft, Elizabeth and Mark.

Five minutes later they were all seated in the limousine and headed for Brighton Beach.

* * *

**Author's note:** If you are curious - Sherlock's propensity towards migraines stems from the reveal in my initial story that he has suffered from then for many years. I can describe the pain as a migraine sufferer myself. Sumatriptan is not compatible with nicotine, as I stated and it can cause nausea.

Lateral thinking puzzle books are a great way to spend a journey. My family has used them as well on long trips.

Did you enjoy the conversation between Sherlock and Mycroft and the way Sherlock blackmailed his brother? I had fun referencing Lady Bracknell and Uncle Rudy from the canon of the final episode.

As for the journey necklace, I'll admit that idea came from real life; my husband bought one for me for our own tenth wedding anniversary. It seemed very appropriate in light of the fact that my series of stories with the post TFP characters is called the Journey series. I feel like Sherlock would be the type of man who would love to give Molly jewellery and have shown this to be the case in my own post TFP canon for them.

Are you looking forward to reading about the trip to the beach?


	9. A Beach Outing

"How's your head?" Molly asked Sherlock. They were sitting together in the limo on the way to the beach. He hadn't complained about his head hurting anymore, but she wanted to make sure he was feeling better.

"It's fine now, fortunately,." He flashed her a quick smile.

She gave him a peck on the cheek. "I'm glad, honey." She had been concerned he might end up with one of those extremely rare but awful migraines that he would gamely soldier through even as she saw the expression of pain that would flicker across his features at times. She remembered the one time he had been out on a case when a migraine hit and had been unable to take any medication. He had finished the case with John, but at the end of it he had staggered home and practically collapsed from the pain, and she had made him stay in bed for a day. She had supplied him with tablets, cool wet flannels and made sure he was not disturbed by the children.

Before long the family had arrived at Brighton Beach. The three men carried a deck chair each while Molly took the hamper and picnic blanket, the children took buckets and spades. Everyone was in charge of their own towel and so laden, they headed onto the pebbled beach.

They found an unoccupied area to set up the deck chairs. Molly privately thought Mycroft looked rather ludicrous unfolding a deck chair to sit on while wearing a suit, although he had at least removed his tie. Of course, she couldn't recall Mycroft ever being in anything but a suit. Even during their trip to Disney World a few weeks earlier in the fierce summer heat that was so unlike the milder summers in England, Mycroft's only concession to it had been to remove his waistcoat and tie, and if it was extremely hot, his suit jacket.

Molly set down the picnic hamper, blanket and her towel on one side of Mycroft's chair as the children moved to the other side to deposit buckets and spades and their own towels. Sherlock set up his mother's chair and helped her get into it, as Mark solicitously did the same for his stepmother.

Molly looked at Sherlock, remembering the way he had always worn suits in her early days of knowing him, although at least he had not bothered with the waistcoat and tie, it had been a curious mixture of elegance and casualness and she had admired the way he had been able to pull it off. While Sherlock still wore suits for consultations and when he was on cases "in order to project a professional image" as he had told her years earlier, these days when he was at home he would often wear more casual shirts and trousers and even occasionally, if he was feeling particularly casual, a T-shirt with jeans or shorts. He steadfastly refused under any circumstances to wear jumpers, however.

Right now though, Molly couldn't help admiring Sherlock's bare torso. From a distance, the scars on his back were not visible, but you could see them if you got close enough. Over the years, she had noticed the occasional whisper when people passed close by them if they were at the beach, but nobody had ever been rude enough to say anything about the scars that faintly criss-crossed Sherlock's back. Each of the children had seen them of course, and Sherlock and Molly had carefully explained how Daddy had been involved in dangerous activities in his younger years and been hurt as a result. Sensitive Victoria, when she had first asked about the scars on Daddy's back and the indentation from the bullet hole on his chest, had been overcome with emotion when she had been told in very general, non-specific terms about Sherlock's past. Of course, both Sherlock and Molly had stressed the fact that God had saved Sherlock on many occasions and that Daddy did not take the same kind of risks anymore. Even after all these years though, sometimes Molly's stomach would still clench at the sight of those permanent reminders of what the man she loved had endured.

Noticing Molly's appreciative gaze, Sherlock walked towards her and preened a little. "Like what you see?" He gave Molly "that" look which still made her weak at the knees as he stopped to face her while the children were still distracted in setting down their own things. His gaze darted towards the low-cut neckline of her own swimming costume. "Because I very much like what I see." He raised a hand to caress her cheek with his thumb.

Molly blushed, despite herself. He always knew that velvety tone affected her. "Stop that right now! The children will hear you, or worse still, Mycroft, and you know how he feels about our 'inappropriate' behaviour. He's already indoctrinated our daughters regarding excessive sentiment."

She was surprised when Sherlock smirked at her. "My brother and I have come to an agreement for him to cease and desist in making future comments about such things to our daughters."

She raised an eyebrow. "And how did you manage that?"

"Oh, I just used a little blackmail, threatened to tell his son about something he'd rather Mark not know. I'll tell you about it later."

Molly laughed. "Too bad you didn't think to do that earlier. I think your brother has corrupted the girls' minds already with his archaic 'stiff-upper-lip' way of looking at things."

"Don't worry, they will get over this when they start noticing boys." He frowned suddenly. "Hmm, perhaps I shouldn't have been so quick to tell Mycroft to shut up. I'm not looking forward to dealing with the heartbreak that will follow unrequited crushes and the like."

Molly reached up on tiptoes to plant a kiss on Sherlocks lips. "Not all crushes remain unrequited. Some become mutual love. But I don't think we need to worry about that for several years." She spied the twins heading towards her with buckets. "Now let's see what the children want to do right now."

"Mummy, can we look for nice, smooth pebbles on the beach?" asked Scott, coming to stand beside her, brandishing his bucket as Noah did the same.

"What about your sisters?" She looked over at Victoria and Christina who had spread out their towels and were also heading towards them.

"I dunno." Scott shrugged.

"I'm hot." That was from Christina who had reached them with Victoria right behind. "I wanna go into the water."

"I just want to put my feet in the water and feel the waves make my feet sink deeper and deeper into the sand," said Victoria.

Molly looked at Sherlock enquiringly. "Well, honey, I suppose you will choose to stay out of the water and go with the boys to look for nice pebbles?"

To her surprise he shook his head. "I'll take the girls to the water and you can go with the boys." He gave her a rueful smile. "I promised Mummy I'd make an effort to get my feet wet."

Molly grinned. She knew how much he disliked the water and thought it was very sweet that he wanted to please his mother. "Alright then."

Molly set off down the beach along the shoreline, helping her sons pick out the smoothest pebbles for their buckets. Every now and then she glanced over towards Sherlock. He had gamely removed his sandals and had waded into the ocean knee-deep to keep a watchful eye on Christina. Mark had come up to Victoria and they were standing together at the point where waves could wash over their feet.

After half an hour the boys grew tired of looking for pebbles and said they were thirsty, so they headed back to where the older members of the family were sitting. Sherlock's mother and Elizabeth were both wearing large straw hats to shield their heads and faces from the sunshine. Mycroft's head was bare and Molly wondered if her brother-in-law's receding hairline was getting a little red.

She fetched a bottle of water from the picnic hamper for the boys to share and held out the tube of suncream to Mycroft. "Mycroft, you might want to apply a little suncream to your head; you don't want to get a sunburn."

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I told him he should wear a hat." She frowned in her husband's direction as Mycroft reluctantly accepted the suncream and squeezed some onto his hand to apply it.

Mycroft pursed his lips. "You didn't tell me until we were already on our way." He rubbed a generous amount of cream onto the bald spots of his head. Oh yes, it was already looking a bit red, Molly noted. She hoped he would not end up sunburned.

"Maybe not about the hat, but if you recall, I told you to put on some suncream before we left the house, and you ignored me." Elizabeth folded her arms and smirked at Molly. "What is it about our genius men that makes them so oblivious to using their common sense at times?"

Molly grinned back at the older woman. "Guess that's why they need us to take care of them."

Mycroft huffed indignantly at that. "I managed quite well by myself for forty-seven years."

"With a housekeeper and cook to pander to your every whim." Elizabeth's comeback made Mycroft flush. Molly had heard the tart note in her sister-in-law's voice and thought Elizabeth sounded a lot like Violet at times. She supposed she too could be that way when Sherlock was acting petulant on occasion about doing something he found unpleasant.

Sherlock's mother let out a chuckle, having heard the exchange. "Myc, you and your brother are lucky to have strong women behind you. They remind me of myself."

Noah pulled at aMolly's hand and she saw the boys had finished with their water. "Can we go into the ocean now?"

Molly looked to where the girls were frolicking at the water's edge and chasing waves while Sherlock and Mark kept a watchful eye on them.

"Of course, darling. Let's get some extra bottles of water for you sisters, Daddy and Mark too."

Bottles in hand, Molly, Noah and Scott joined the others and distributed the water which was gratefully received.

Leaving flip-flops at the water's edge, the boys waded into the ocean waist deep and Molly stayed close beside them, the water reaching her thighs. It was a little warmer than usual, she noted. Perhaps on future visits they would have to make the trip in August rather than July, if there were to be more trips. She still didn't know whether Sherlock had discussed anything with his mother about keeping the house. Of course, they could always still stay at a hotel if they had to, but it wouldn't be the same.

Having finished their water, the rest of the group returned to the ocean as well. The children shrieked with laughter as they tried to put their swimming lessons to use, finding the ocean a different story than a calm pool.

Molly was glad to see Sherlock in the water with her for once and enjoyed it when he came up and wrapped his arms around her from behind, dropping a kiss to her neck when their children were not looking because Mark was showing them how he could float on his back in the ocean.

Molly twisted her head to look up at Sherlock. "Having fun?"

"More than I expected." His hold tightened around her waist. "It's better to be actually in the water than at the edge with the sand getting between my toes. I still do not look forward to having to clean off the excess sand when we come out of the water. Pools are much better."

"But you don't mind building sandcastles though."

"That is entirely different." At her raised eyebrow he elaborated. "The sand for that is dry and easy to wipe off, unlike the caked-on mess it becomes when it is wet. I can distribute the buckets of water onto the sand buckets and the children do all the work of building while I supervise."

She supposed there was some logic in that. It _was_ annoying when clumps of sand mysteriously found their way inside her swimming costume, and it was definitely easier to brush off dry sand. She also preferred pools to the ocean, but this was still fun for something different. She had learned to always put her hair in a ponytail though, having experienced the way the ocean breeze would make a tangled mess of her hair if it was unbound.

After another half an hour, Molly called out to the children. "Time to get out of the water and put on more suncream and have a drink. Then we can build sandcastles until it is time to unpack the hamper for our picnic dinner."

Christina pouted. "Can't we stay in the water just a little longer, Mummy?" Molly wasn't surprised. Of the four children, Christina loved being in the water the most, in fact, it was hard for her to sit still for more than a few minutes, she liked to be active. Even when she was reading, she would be swinging her legs beneath her on the chair, or she would sometimes take a book outside and sit on one of the swings so she could rock herself to and fro as she read. When she practised violin, she would walk around the room rather than stand still.

"Listen to your mother." Sherlock's voice was stern so Christina meekly complied, following her brothers and sister out of the water.

As Molly and Sherlock were reapplying the suncream, she suddenly noticed a van at the side of the road advertising snow cones.

"Rather than water, would you all like to get snow cones instead?" she asked the children and they responded enthusiastically. Then she realised to her dismay they had not brought any money.

Mycroft noticed her chagrined expression. "I'd be happy to pay for snow cones for everyone, as long as someone brings one back for Grandma, Auntie Elizabeth and myself." He produced a wallet from his trouser pocket and pulled out a twenty pound note.

"Thank you so much, Mycroft." Molly took it from his extended hand. "What flavour would you like?"

"Anytime, sister mine. A snow cone does sound rather refreshing. I suppose any fruit flavour, orange if they have it, or lime." He looked at his wife. "For you, Elizabeth?" The he looked at his mother, "Mummy?"

"I'd love a lemon-lime," responded Elizabeth. "I'm pretty sure I have had one of those before at it is very refreshing."

"That sounds lovely," said Sherlock's mother. "I will have the same."

Armed with their orders, the rest of the family headed for the van. First, Molly ordered the cones for the seated family members and Mark, Victoria and Christina were dispatched to deliver them.

Scott and Noah chose blue raspberry and orange mango respectively so they could share with each other.

"How about you, honey?" Molly looked over at Sherlock once the boys had their cones, as the others were still making their way back to them.

"I might get cherry." Sherlock's voice was teasing.

Molly smacked his arm lightly. "There will be no kissing for you if you do." He knew she detested cherry flavouring. Sherlock didn't dislike it as she did but she knew there were other flavours he preferred anyway.

He put on a sad face and heaved an exaggerated sigh, earning a grin from the vendor. "Well, in that case I'll take cola."

Molly laughed and ordered his cone, by which time the others had returned.

After getting Mark a blue raspberry which earned a high-five from Scott for choosing the same flavour, Christina requested one with both sour cherry and sour apple while Victoria opted for pink bubblegum.

Molly herself selected blue bubblegum and then paid for the cones.

As they returned to sit on their towels, Molly and Victoria sampled one another's cones and decided they tasted exactly the same despite the different colour.

For the next ten minutes things were quiet as everyone happily licked and sucked at the sweet treats. Sherlock and Molly sat together and tried each other's cone. Sherlock made fun of Molly for choosing a "kids" flavour to which she promptly stuck out her tongue at him. She regretted that immediately when he teased her for her blue tongue.

She pretended indignation at his teasing and he bent towards her and kissed her briefly when the children were busy trying one another's flavours. Molly opened her eyes to see Mycroft observing them with a twist to his lips but he made no comment and she realised whatever Sherlock had said to him must have worked like a charm. Sherlock apparently also noticed his brother's observation and smirked, then cupped her face with his free hand and kissed her again, slowly, daringly dipping his tongue briefly into her mouth. She heard Mycroft make a slight snort but again he restrained himself from making a comment.

When Sherlock drew back, Molly shook her head and wagged a finger at him. "Why must you always try to embarrass your brother?"

Sherlock sucked on his snow cone for a moment before responding. "Because it amuses me to annoy him. Besides, I didn't see you complaining about me kissing you while it was happening."

Molly giggled. "I will never complain about our kissing frequency, but you are still being exceptionally naughty."

Sherlock tickled her then and she almost dropped the remainder of her snow cone as she shrieked with laughter. That did garner a muttered comment from Mycroft. "Like a bloody pair of teenagers."

This caused Victoria to look over and frown. "Were you snogging again?"

Molly rolled her eyes. _And the cycle continues._

Sherlock shot a stern look at his firstborn. "I was just tickling your mother and I do not want to hear you use that term in front of me again. Remember what I told you yesterday, Victoria Faith."

When Sherlock used both names for his children, they all knew he was deadly serious. "Yes, Daddy. Sorry Daddy and Mummy." She returned to finishing her snow cone.

Sherlock and Molly watched in amusement as their children finished their cones and displayed their coloured tongues.

While the three elders retained their positions on the deck chairs, Sherlock and Molly headed for the toilets with their brood, accompanied by Mark, buckets and spades in hand. The boys had temporarily dumped out the pebbles they had collected onto the sand by their beach towels so that they could use the buckets for the sandcastle building. They used the facilities and washed their hands (and, in most cases, sticky faces), then headed over to the man-made sandbox for the annual mandatory building of sandcastles which was always a highlight of their days at the beach. Truthfully, these sandcastles were just upturned buckets, in varying sizes, of sand with water added to make the sand stick together, placed in a circle with a channel around them as if it was a waterless moat. It was a fun activity anyway and it always kept the children busy going back and forth to collect water in some buckets while others were filled with sand.

Today was no exception and another hour went by with the family building their sandcastles, this time joined by cousin Mark for the first time. Molly enjoyed herself immensely. Mark was always great with his cousins and they clearly adored him, following every instruction he gave on positioning for the buckets and the correct amount of water to mix with the sand. He directed them on the correct way to upturn the buckets to form a perfect little pillar and the finished product was the best moat-surrounded sandcastle they had ever made. Molly was disappointed that she had not thought to bring her phone to take photos but the memories would suffice.

By the time the group went back to the toilets to clean as much sand off themselves as possible, Christina as usual was complaining that she was positively starving.

Four hungry children, one energetic young man and two weary parents headed back to the deck chairs to find the large blanket had been set out and the food was already waiting for them along with more bottles of water.

Molly and Sherlock passed out sandwiches and drinks then took their own food. The sandwiches were followed by fairy cakes.

Once everyone had finished eating, it was time to pack up and return to the house. Mycroft called his chauffeur for pick-up and it was a weary but happy group that returned to the large country house.

On the ride back, a short conversation ensued on sleeping arrangements. This would be the first time the whole family had been together in addition to the Watson family which meant some juggling of bedrooms was necessary.

Mycroft and Elizabeth always slept in his old room and the boys had slept in Sherlocks's old room at Christmas time for the past two years instead of the girls who had changed to the second floor first bedroom. Sherlock and Molly had used the same bedroom on the first floor on their visits since Victoria had been born. This bedroom was located above the games room which housed a pool table and two chess tables that could double as draughts tables. Mark was sleeping on the sofa-bed in the garden room beyond the games room.

Victoria and Christina, would you like to sleep in my room?" asked their grandmother, when they were trying to decide where they would sleep. "That way when the Watsons come, they can take the two bedrooms on the second floor."

This invitation was eagerly accepted by both girls and Molly had a feeling her mother-in-law was secretly glad that she would not be sleeping alone in the large master bedroom for a few days. She imagined it must feel lonely after having shared it with her husband for so many years. For once the pull-out sofa would be put to good use.

As soon as they arrived at the house, Molly directed the children to the large shower area that had been installed in the outbuilding that had housed horses many years earlier, in order to rinse off any remaining sand from their bodies. Once this was done, they headed into the house barefoot. Mark quickly followed suit and then Molly and Sherlock did the same.

Following the rinse-off, Sherlock picked up the family's suitcases and garment bags to take them to the appropriate rooms. As he headed upstairs, Molly requested he pull out pyjamas for the children while she got a bath ready for the boys. She found the twins in the sitting room with everyone else, looking decidedly sleepy after a day filled with activity.

The bath was drawn and the twins were in the tub when Sherlock reappeared with their pyjamas. He had taken the time for a quick shower on the second floor, and changed into a T-shirt and shorts, and he informed Molly that Mark was now upstairs taking his own shower.

After the boys were bathed and in their pyjamas, Molly sent them to the sitting room to get Christina for her bath and to tell Victoria to take a shower after her cousin. Following Christina's bath, Molly pulled the plug to drain the tub and returned downstairs with Christina, then went to her bedroom to get a change of clothes and headed back to the bathroom once again for her own shower. It felt good to remove her swimming costume, which as usual had managed to attract sand, and to wash her hair.

When Molly returned downstairs again, she heard the sound of Sherlock's voice coming from the kitchen and went to join him. She stood quietly as he said into his phone, "Sounds good. We'll see you then."

"Who was on the phone?" she asked, once he had disconnected the call.

"John. They are going to church tomorrow and heading down here after lunch, rather than waiting until Monday."

"Oh good. Speaking of church, are we planning to go in the morning?" In past year's when they were holidaying in Sussex they had always gone to church with Sherlock's parents in Brighton.

Sherlock shook his head. "I had a quiet word with Mummy about that a few minutes ago. She said she doesn't feel she would be up to listening to words of sympathy when she will be hearing them on Tuesday at the funeral." His expression changed then to one of sorrow and she knew the word "funeral" had brought their situation back to the forefront of his mind.

She placed a comforting hand on his arm. "That's understandable. I remember Mum said the same thing after Dad died, that she couldn't face people in church immediately."

He looked back at her, running a hand through his still-damp hair. "God, Molly, it has been such a good day today but now I can't stop thinking about my dad and how much he would have enjoyed us being together like this. All of a sudden it began to hit me all over again when I was talking to Mummy a little while ago and Mycroft was sitting in Daddy's chair. It just seemed all wrong, somehow."

She put her arms around him, resting her cheek against his chest, inhaling the soap scent from his shower. "I know, sweetheart. I miss him too."

She looked up and saw the tears in his eyes. Seeing Sherlock so vulnerable brought the tears to her own eyes. "Molly, I can't help feeling guilty that I didn't spend enough time with my dad when I had the opportunity, and now it's too late." She heard the hollow note in his voice. "All those years I would be constantly irritated by my parents' visits and try to avoid seeing them at all costs." A tear slipped down his cheek.

"Honey, that was a long time ago when you acted that way. Since we've been together we have spent plenty of time with your parents. Your dad wouldn't want you to feel guilty about something you can't change. I know he was just glad to see you settled and with a family of your own. We have so many wonderful memories to cherish."

"I know, I have to remember that." He placed his own arms around her and rested his chin on her head as they held one another for a few minutes, sharing their grief as tears stained their cheeks.

Finally they released one another, wiped their faces and went to rejoin the rest of the family. They were sitting together when Molly's phone rang and she saw it was her mother, who had obviously just returned from her retreat and had finally seen Molly's message from earlier in the week. She excused herself to take the call and exited the sitting room. "Hello, Mum."

"Oh my darling, I was completely floored when I turned on my phone to see your message. I didn't want to just send you back a text. I'm so sorry, honey, how are you all coping?"

Molly felt a rush of love pass through her at hearing her mother's voice. It was good to hear from her. "We're managing, Mum. Losing someone unexpectedly is always a shock. It's not like it was with Dad, where we had a chance to prepare, even though it still hurt terribly."

"That's true. Praise God, at least we know where William is now. He's probably up there swapping stories with your dad."

Molly smiled, recalling the way she and Sherlock had talked about his father meeting the baby they had lost. She hadn't even thought about him also meeting her own father and talking with him. It was a comforting thought. "Probably."

"Well, please pass on my condolences to Sherlock and his family and give extra hugs from me to the children. Are you sure you don't wish me to come down for the funeral? It would be no trouble."

"I'll pass on the message. Sherlock was adamant that you not feel you should come. We have a houseful here and the Watsons will be arriving tomorrow so we have plenty of family around. I'm sure the children will want to come and see you soon after we return home so I'll contact you once we return home after the funeral."

"Alright, dearest. I will be praying that everything goes well with the funeral and that God will keep His loving arms around you at this time. I'll talk with you soon. I love you."

"Thanks, Mum. Love you too."

Molly returned to the sitting room and recounted in a low voice the conversation with her mother to Sherlock, then passed on the condolences as well to the rest of the family.

A couple hours later, once the girls had gone upstairs with their grandmother and the boys had been put to bed, having all been given extra kisses on behalf of Nanny Hooper, Sherlock and Molly headed up to their bedroom as well.

Molly could see that her husband was still feeling the loss of his father acutely, although he had tried to keep things together in front of the rest of the family. Being in the family home like this, it made the absence of his dad that much more difficult to deal with. This was definitely not going to be a night that repeated the activities of the past two. Quietly she undressed and put on her chemise while Sherlock removed all but his boxers.

Molly held out her arms for Sherlock in bed and he came to her, kissing her goodnight then resting his head against her chest so she could stroke his hair soothingly, lovingly, until his breathing evened into sleep and she allowed herself to join him in slumber.

* * *

**Author's note:** Well, what did you think of the beach outing? It was a fun scene to construct but required a fair bit of research about Brighton Beach. I have tried to keep things accurate. Credit for the snow cone scene goes to Wandering Soprano who had just told me about enjoying a snow cone herself, and I thought it would be a fun thing to add into the story.

What did you think about Molly's reflection on Sherlock's scars? I tried to think of how his children would have reacted to it. I've always thought the show downplayed his torture in Serbia far too much and prefer to show lasting evidence of what he endured. What's your head canon on that?

As you can see, the day was a fun one but the reality crept up in Sherlock later and his grief took hold of him again. I've found this to be something that has happened periodically within our own family since the lost of my father-in-law.

Anyway, let me know what you thought of this chapter and the many emotions surrounding it.


	10. Arrival of the Watsons

Sherlock woke to feel Molly's hand stroking his hair softly. "We should probably get up, honey. I would not be surprised if the children are already up."

Sherlock lifted his head reluctantly from the soft pillow that was Molly's breast where apparently he had remained, unmoving, all night.

"I guess you're right." He felt a little better than the night before when sorrow had pressed inwards upon him as it had done on the day his father had passed away. He just had not been able to get the image out of his mind of Mycroft sitting in the chair that had always been his father's. It just seemed so wrong. Intellectually he understood it didn't make sense to identify a chair with a person, but his heart had refused to listen to logical reasoning.

This morning though, he was determined to keep the grief at bay. There were still two days until the funeral and feeling miserable the whole time would only serve to dampen the spirits of everyone else.

Ten minutes later, wearing more casual attire, a plaid shirt and shorts, Sherlock headed downstairs with Molly to the kitchen. He saw immediately that they were the last ones to arrive.

His mother was at the stove cooking a huge pan of scrambled eggs while bacon was sizzling away in another frying pan.

Molly immediately went to get jam and honey out of the cupboard and butter from the fridge while Elizabeth set down an enormous stack of toast.

Sherlock noted that the children had already been provided with glasses of orange juice and he went over to the kettle to pour himself and Molly a cup of coffee.

For some reason that Sherlock could never deduce, the fresh country air always seemed to give everyone a big appetite for breakfast.

Noah was sitting next to Sherlock and after he had finished his plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, he gave Sherlock a questioning look. "Are we going to church today, Daddy?"

Sherlock put a hand on his som's head. "Not today. We thought we would just spend a quiet day here. The Watsons will be coming some time after lunch as well; doesn't that sound good?"

Noah clapped his hands. "Yay, can we play cricket when they get here?" Having learned to play cricket as a boy himself, Sherlock had found his old cricket set the previous summer - bat, ball and wickets, and attempted to explain the rules to the boys and to Christina. Victoria had not been particularly interested in playing, content to watch, but Molly had joined in the fun as well. Her own father had been quite the cricket enthusiast. The Holmes grandparents had watched indulgently from the back terrace along with a book-wielding Victoria as the family had enjoyed trying to bowl and bat.

Sherlock looked at his son. "Does Adam know how to play?"

Christina piped up with a response. "Of course he does. He told us he plays it after school sometimes, but I'm sure I'm better than he is." She tossed her head.

"Why must you always boast, Christy?" Victoria said the words in her most grown-up tone, nudging her sister who was seated beside her.

Christina folded her arms. "I'm not boasting, Tori, just stating an introvertable fact. I am always better than Adam when it comes to sports - games too."

"I think you mean incontrovertible fact, sweetie." Molly made the correction with a grin. It was not unusual to hear Christina attempting to use big words and not quite succeeding in their pronunciation or correct usage.

Christina frowned at her mother. "That's what I _said_! Introverable fact."

There were a few muffled laughs around the table as Christina looked around crossly, not understanding why people were laughing.

After breakfast, while the women helped clean up, Mark took his cousins into the games room to "play" pool. Their version of playing pool was to use their hands to aim the white ball at the red and yellow coloured balls and try to get one into a pocket. Sherlock watched them disappear into the games room and decided he'd have to ask John to join him in a proper game of pool later on in the day. He hadn't had a decent game in ages.

He had learned to play pool quite well during a case a few years earlier. He had frequented a pool hall for several days to learn the game properly. Lestrade had called upon him to uncover who had murdered a man in a case where a pool cue had been the unusual weapon of choice. With several suspects, Sherlock had determined it would be important to understand how to play the game himself.

Of course, he had successfully solved the case, and Sherlock had insisted that he and Molly purchase a pool table for the games room at his parents' house. Obviously, their home in London did not have enough room, and he thought it would be a nice addition to the room that would give them something else to do on their visits. Sherlock's parents had offered no objection and Sherlock and Molly had gone to a place that specialised in selling pool tables, arranging to have the table delivered and set up at the Holmes parents' house. That had been more than two years earlier.

Unfortunately, Sherlock had not had a lot of opportunity to show off his skill since then because the children had still been too young to play. He had attempted to interest Molly in playing with him several times in the beginning but she had refused to play pool with him anymore after he had begun instructing her on the correct way to hold the pool cue and the correct placement of the cue against the white ball to ensure that the desired red or yellow ball went into the pocket of choice. Molly had complained that he had made the game "not fun" by telling her about the correct angles and velocity needed to pot the desired ball. Sherlock didn't really understand her annoyance with him, he was only trying to help her play better. Molly had a tendency to pot the white ball more often than one of the coloured balls, but he supposed he did have an inclination to go overboard with instruction when it came to calculating the mathematics of the game.

"A word, brother mine?" Sherlock was roused from his thoughts about pool by Mycroft, who jerked his head slightly to indicate he wished to speak to Sherlock privately.

Sherlock followed his brother to the sitting room and watched as his brother closed the door behind them. "What did you want to talk about?"

"I did not want to cause Mummy further distress in talking in front of her. I just wished to let you know the funeral home chapel of rest will be available for us to see our father tomorrow afternoon to say our farewells. I did not know if you wish your children to attend or not. Elizabeth has offered to remain here with them if you would prefer they not see our father that way."

Sherlock swallowed. He and Molly had discussed this already. "It will be difficult, but I think they will want to say goodbye to their grandfather. They are aware that his spirit is now with God and that his body here is merely a shell that he has now shed."

"I have to say, brother mine, when you first started going in for the religious," seeing Sherlock's lips tighten he amended it to, "I mean _Christian_ thing, I felt certain you would eventually grow bored of a life that is dictated by something other than yourself."

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but Mycroft held up his hand. "Let me finish. I have to concede that this is a permanent change in you. I've waited for the penny to drop now for ten years and it hasn't. Your beliefs have never been more evident than at this moment where you show such unwavering faith about where our father is now. I...I hope that you are right. It does offer me a small measure of comfort to think that our father lives on, somehow, somewhere."

"He does live on, Mycroft." Sherlock's voice was earnest. "I just wish you would allow yourself to accept the possibility that what our family believes may be the truth. Our faith in life after death sustains us, gives us hope of seeing loved ones again. If my faith is in vain, I have lost nothing. I have tried to live a better life as a result. But if I'm right and you continue to not believe, I fear for your soul and what will happen once you pass from this life."

Mycroft looked uncomfortable at Sherlock's honest words. "I do understand your point, Sherlock. I have entertained the possibility that there may be something out there beyond myself. You and Molly are definitely different to the majority of people with whom I come in contact on a regular basis. It is like you have some sort of inner peace, an assurance for the future that I lack." He paused, letting out a deep sigh before going to an armchair and settling in it, pinching the bridge of his nose as he did so and closing his eyes.

_Daddy's chair. _Sherlock was not saddened by that thought at this moment. This conversation was much more important than those reflections. "Yes, I do have peace because I know where I'm going after I leave this life behind." He regarded Mycroft carefully. Was there a trace of defeat in the set of his brother's shoulders? He waited patiently for Mycroft to speak again, taking the seat across from him.

Finally Mycroft opened his eyes and looked across at Sherlock. "When aI was diagnosed with bowel cancer last year it did get me thinking about what would happen if the cancer could not be contained. For the first time I recognised my own mortality, and the thought of nothingness beyond this life it-" he searched for the right word, "disturbed me. I once told you that all lives end and all hearts are broken, but I did not really think about the finality of those words."

"I won't lie to you, Mycroft." Sherlock leaned forward in his chair and placed his elbows on his knees, hands folded rather than in their usual steepled position. "Despite my faith, my heart is still broken. I have shed more tears in the past few days than ever before. I miss Daddy and selfishly, I want him back. Yet at the same time, deep down I do have the peace that passes all understanding that he is now where I will be one day. I'd like you to be with me, but it is up to you to seek the truth for yourself. The Bible is readily available for you to read about Jesus and how he saved the world, and how believing in him and what he did for us gives us the opportunity to spend eternity with him and God. You know some of that from participating in that play we did at church a few years ago that was based on the life of Jesus. But I can't force you to recognise it as the truth. Only the Holy Spirit can do that."

He paused, feeling his eyes fill with tears, this time for his brother. "Just know that I will pray for you always, that you will know the truth and the truth will set you free, as the Bible says."

"Thank you. I am humbled that your regard for me is so great." Mycroft offered a small smile.

"I love you, Mycroft. I may not say it often, but I do. You saved me when I nearly killed myself with my drug addiction when I was in my early twenties. You saved me again when I was in Serbia. Praying for you and your future salvation is the least I can do. Will you at least think about what I've said?" He looked at Mycroft pleadingly.

Mycroft nodded. "I will consider it and-" he paused, "I love you too."

Feeling hope at those words, Sherlock blinked back his tears and a smile crossed his lips.

The men rose then and returned to the kitchen where the women had just finished clearing away the breakfast dishes and wiping down the table.

Molly crossed to Sherlock and spoke softly. "Are you okay? What did Mycroft want to talk about?"

Sherlock took her hand. "Let's go for a little walk while our offspring are otherwise occupied and I'll tell you."

He and Molly went outside and walked around the house, enjoying the cool morning air. They ended up sitting at the big umbrella-covered round table on the back terrace beside the garden room. Sherlock told Molly about his conversation with Mycroft, first about the funeral home and then their discussion on life after death.

"I'm glad you found an opportunity to talk with Mycroft." Molly placed her hand on his. "If nothing else, this situation has opened a door for you that was locked before. We will just keep praying for him, and for Elizabeth too, of course."

"Yep, that's all we can do. It's so hard though to feel so ineffectual."

"I know, sweetheart. But our job is only to plant seeds, and you've been doing that. The Holy Spirit has to do the rest." She stroked her thumb gently across the back of his hand.

"I know."

She changed the subject, obviously not wishing him to get depressed about things. Sometimes he felt he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He wanted everyone to know Jesus but realistically, that was not going to happen. "On another note, your mother has decided to make a nice lamb roast for dinner, and a beef one too, so we'll be busy getting dinner ready for fifteen of us later this afternoon." Her lips quirked. "I'm going to make another apple crumble for dessert, a double batch too, to make enough for us all. Elizabeth is going to take Mycroft's car so we can run to the shops ad make sure we have the ingredients. We need to get some more potatoes and vegetables as well with so many mouths to feed."

"Perhaps we should all go out to dinner instead? Wouldn't that be easier?"

Molly shook her head. "She wants to do this, honey. You know she loves to cook and this gives her something productive to do, as she said to me. Oh, and of course she is going to make Yorkshire pudding as well."

Sherlock smiled at that. He had always enjoyed his mother's Yorkshire pudding. Molly had learned to make it from her mother-in-law, but there was always something special about eating Yorkshire pudding made by his mother. It brought back fond memories of his teenage years and home-cooked meals. "I suppose we should go back inside now." His words were tinged with regret as he turned his hand around to clasp Molly's.

Impulsively, he lifted her hand to press the back of it to his lips. "Just in case I don't say it enough, I love you, and I appreciate everything you do for me." He continued to hold her hand as they stood to return inside.

She grinned at him, reciprocating the gesture. "That's one thing I can never complain about, how often you express words of affection and love to me, Sherlock." She then gave him an impish smile. "And you are quite good at demonstrating it in a practical way as well."

He recalled they had not made love the previous night; his thoughts had been too burdened with sorrow about being in his old home without his father's presence. But he was feeling a lot better today. The talk with Mycroft had also reminded him that he knew his father was now alive and well in heaven. There was a devilish gleam in his eyes as he responded. "I shall endeavour to express my affections in a practical way tonight, my love."

Her own eyes twinkled. "Promises, promises."

He released their clasped hands as they reached the front door to give her bottom a quick squeeze and she giggled. "Behave yourself, Mr. Holmes."

He paused, hand on the door handle. "Oh, I forgot to tell you how I got Mycroft to stop filling our children's heads with nonsense about our public displays of affection."

Molly raised her eyebrow. "Do tell, then."

He did so, recounting the conversation from the day before and she laughed, then they headed back into the house.

The rest of the morning passed quietly enough as everyone amused themselves in a family game. The Monopoly board was pulled out and played in teams of three, with Mummy even joining in as banker. Sherlock and his sons were victorious, much to Christina's dismay and insistence that they must have somehow cheated.

_Takes after her mother,_ thought Sherlock fondly, recalling his honeymoon where Molly had shown herself to have a rare flaw, that of being a sore loser. She had even cried over his consecutive victories in playing Monopoly and chess. Of course, she was not bothered by losing now, but they had not been playing one-on-one.

Interestingly enough, Mycroft had always been a little petulant over the years when Sherlock had played Monopoly and been the victor on the majority of occasions. In fact, he had refused to play the traditional Christmas game of Monopoly for several years until Mark had joined the family. Sherlock could see his brother was still a little irritated even now, as his own team with Elizabeth and Mark had not won, despite having hotels on Regent, Oxford and Bond Street.

By the time the game was ended, it was time for lunch.

After lunch the women departed to do their shopping. Victoria tagged along and Sherlock found all the cricket gear to set up at the rear of the house. He, Mark, the boys and Christina spent some time practising their cricket skills while Mycroft went off to use his laptop, saying he needed to do some work or the government would go to pot.

When wheels were heard turning into the driveway, the cricket activity was put on hold so the men could help with the unloading of groceries. They were just bringing the last of it into the house when another car pulled up behind the first vehicle. The Watsons had arrived.

Shouts of welcome from the children ensued, along with more subdued greetings between the adults as John and Kayla offered their condolences to Sherlock's mother.

Sherlock helped John bring in the suitcases and take them upstairs to the bedrooms on the second floor. The second, larger bedroom where John and Kayla would be sleeping now housed the two cots that had been used for the twins when they were younger, and one of them had been converted into a cot bed for Johannah to use, while the first bedroom would be shared by Rosamund and Adam. Sherlock reflected it had been a very wise move to add an extra bathroom to the second floor a few years earlier. With fifteen people in the house, it would certainly be needed.

When the men returned downstairs, John informed his daughter that she would be sharing a room with her brother while they were staying at the house. Rosie didn't seem particularly thrilled at the prospect of sharing, but she was old enough to understand that accommodations had to be made with so many people staying in the one location. Rosamund and Victoria were the only ones in the sitting room besides Sherlock's mother who was sitting in her armchair, eyes closed. The girls were both holding copies of the sixth Harry Potter book.

"Where did everyone else go?" Sherlock addressed his daughter.

"They all went back outside to play cricket. Auntie Kayla said she would sit on the back terrace with Johannah and watch, but Rosie and I am much too busy reading to worry about cricket. We're both at the same part of the book and it's very exciting."

"Very exciting." Rosamund echoed the sentiment.

Sherlock smiled at the young girls then looked at John. "Should we head outside as well or would you fancy a game of pool?"

John's eyes lit up. "Oh, I haven't had a game of pool in ages. Let's take advantage of the opportunity while everyone else is otherwise occupied. Just don't be a show-off, okay?"

Sherlock smirked. "Me, a show-off?"

John punched his arm lightly. "Since when are you _not _a show-off?"

The men headed into the games room and set up the balls. Sherlock decided to let John break, and his friend managed to pot a red ball, so was able to take another turn.

Sherlock thought John might find it interesting to learn some of the things he had discovered about pool tables. "Did you know there are differences between English and American pool tables?" He asked the question casually, as John prepared to take his next shot.

John took his shot, an unsuccessful one, then looked at Sherlock. "Your turn. No, I wasn't aware of that, but I suppose you intend to tell me all about it."

Sherlock grinned, lining up his own shot to aim for a yellow ball that would hopefully make its way into a corner pocket. "Of course. It is a most interesting subject. The white ball size for an English pool table, unlike the white ball for an American table, is smaller than the other balls, and the pocket sizes are smaller as well."

He took his shot, successfully potting the desired ball. He moved around to the other side of the table for his next shot. He lifted his pool cue in John's direction. "If you look at the pool cue, you will see it tapers significantly at the end. English pool cues, incidentally, are usually made of ash. An American pool cue, usually made from birch, does not taper as much due to the larger size of their white ball."

"Yeah, yeah, mate, just take your shot." John was obviously not appreciating the lesson in pool table differences. Sherlock bent down and successfully potted another yellow ball into a middle pocket.

Hmm, the next shot was not going to be easy. The while ball had ended up in a position where he did not have a clear shot at a yellow ball. He would have to bounce the ball on the cushion first in order to hit a yellow ball and not incur a penalty for hitting a red one.

Sherlock calculated the geometry and placement in his head, then took the shot. He was successful at hitting the yellow ball but it did not go into a pocket so it was John's turn.

The white ball had ended in an easy position for John to pot a red ball, which he did as Sherlock continued to expound on different table sizes and the fact that there were usually both American and English tables in pool halls.

John took another shot and missed, raising an eyebrow at Sherlock. "Another lonely night on Google?"

Sherlock huffed. "It was for a case John, one which I did without your assistance because you were too busy enjoying a Babymoon package holiday before Johannah was born."

Sherlock lined up his next shot as John snorted. "Yeah, the holiday you and Molly purchased for us as a Christmas present after going there yourself when Molly was pregnant with the twins."

Sherlock smiled at the memory of that holiday as he potted his next ball. He and Molly had thoroughly enjoyed the pampering that came with the Babymoon package he had bought for her as an early birthday gift that year. He had arranged for his parents to take care of the girls and had whisked Molly off to Cumbria by train. They had enjoyed massages, chocolate covered strawberries, breakfast in bed. It had been a much needed holiday at a time when Molly was feeling rather unattractive due to the quickly expanding size of her belly and the swelling of her feet. Sherlock of course had loved seeing his wife pregnant, knowing they were expecting twin boys. She always looked alluring to him and that alone time had been romantic, a time where they only needed to concentrate on themselves.

His reflection on how exceptionally romantic that holiday had been, including several rather passionate lovemaking sessions, caused Sherlock to miss his next target. "Damn," he muttered and John laughed, obviously noticing the way Sherlock had been distracted.

"Yeah, we had a lovely time too, with Rosie and Adam staying with Kayla's parents for a few days." John gave Sherlock a conspiratorial grin, lining up his own next shot but missing and hitting a yellow ball first instead.

"That's two shots for me." Sherlock took up his pool cue again. "Did you know when Americans play pool, they do not give an extra shot to the other person after a foul is committed? Play just goes to the other person. Rather ridiculous is it not, to not have a penalty?" He struck the white ball and the red ball he targeted sailed into the corner pocket.

"No, I did not know that. I agree it does seem rather silly," said John as Sherlock missed his next shot by just a fraction, allowing the red ball to rest just before the pocket. He still had another turn though and was able to tap the ball in. "Though perhaps I should request American rules," continued John as Sherlock smiled in satisfaction. "So, care to enlighten me on any other differences?"

Sherlock beamed and stood upright, game forgotten. He loved a captive audience. "Indeed, yes, John. The material used for the tables is different as well. On American tables, it is smoother and makes for a faster playing surface. There are also many more colours to choose from. In fact, this pool table has an American playing surface. I chose it for its purple colour. Is it not appealing?"

John rolled his eyes at Sherlock. "Yeah, yeah, very appealing. I suspect you chose it because it reminds you of Molly's favourite shirt of yours that you continue to purchase in that purple colour. Are you going to take your next shot or not?"

"Oh, yes of course." Sherlock walked around the table to line up his next shot, then talked again, addressing John's words. "Actually, this colour is more lilac. There is a purple colour that is closer to the aubergine of my shirt, so the colour choice was nothing to do with that. I simply prefer this shade of purple. Molly agreed with me when we went to look for a pool table to put in this room. I always felt it was a bit bare in here. After doing that case I mentioned, where I learned to be proficient at the game, I felt it would be an added amusement for when the children were old enough to play, and that Molly and I could play together in the meantime." He took his shot and missed, then indicated it was John's turn before continuing to speak.

"Unfortunately, Molly has been less than enthusiastic in playing with me." He paused and said, as John prepared to take his next shot, "You need to lean down further to keep your eyesight in line with the cue and ball for a better shot."

John bent down a little more, following Sherlock's instructions, sinking one of his balls, then straightening. "Let me guess. She didn't appreciate you instructing her on how to play the game."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I was only attempting to help her become more proficient."

John laughed as he miscalculated his next shot, conceding the turn to Sherlock once again. "So, you never did tell me about that case. What happened?"

Sherlock bent and looked at the white ball, trying to decide which ball he should go for next. Both were not in excellent positioning, but the one he felt had a better chance to glide in, using the side cushion toward the rounded edge of the middle pocket, a shot that would have been less likely to be successful with the more angular center pocket on an American table. He aimed carefully and the ball slid into the pocket as he answered.

"I will not bore you with the details. Suffice it to say, that it was understanding the differences between English and American pool tables that led me to discover the murderer, who had used an English pool cue to stab the victim in the eye. When the answer to the case was not immediately forthcoming upon my investigation, I took to several days of haunting a pool hall in disguise where the murder had occurred to learn the game properly, and at the time I discovered the differences between the two types of pool tables. By observing the several suspects in the crime who were regular players, I was able to narrow it down first to those who preferred using English tables. A few other deductions later and the murderer was successfully apprehended."

By the end of this monologue, Sherlock had successfully potted another ball. Six down, one to go before the black ball. However, the next shot was more difficult due to the fact that there were more red balls still on the table and Sherlock was unsuccessful with his next attempt.

As John took his next turn, Sherlock ventured one more comment. "The colours for balls differ on American tables as well. While we have red and yellow, with American balls the pattern of stripes or spots determines what a player aims for in a game. The balls are also numbered, and can be used for a game of nine-ball where both players are trying to go for the numbers in order. As a result-" he broke off as John's ball missed the intended pocket by inches, to say, "If you had angled the cue slightly further to the left on the white ball, it would have gone in."

John glared at him for the unsolicited advice, and Sherlock shrugged, continuing from where he had left off. "As I was saying, in that particular game it would be possible for someone to pot every ball and yet lose, as the winner is determined by whomever pots the nine-ball." He struck the white ball onto the final red ball and it slid neatly into the pocket, leaving the white ball in prime placement to pot the black.

Sherlock heard the door to the garden room open and became aware of Molly's presence even with his back towards her as his friend looked in her direction.

With a smile, knowing his wife was watching, he took careful aim, bending over and giving his bum a slight wiggle, then successfully ended the game, sinking the black ball and smirked. He gave his friend a polite nod. "Good game, John." He then turned around to look at the woman he adored.

"Hello, sweetheart."

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**Author's note:** I know, this was another hefty chapter and here comes another long author's note that people will probably skip.

So, here was the most in-depth conversation about faith that I have ever written between Sherlock and Mycroft. I don't know how many of my readers consider themselves Christians, but I really hope this helped you to understand some of the Christian perspective. If you are a Christian, please let me know if you felt I presented it well or if I missed something important. I definitely feel that, as a Christian, Sherlock would be very concerned about his brother's salvation. A brush with death can certainly open one's eyes as well and bring them a little closer to God. My own sister had bowel cancer which was successfully treated several years ago so this is a very personal subject for me.

So, the Watsons have arrived at last! Hope you liked the addition of their characters again. You'll get to see more cricket next chapter.

And on to the pool game. This was not a planned thing, but I found a YouTube video where a man was talking about the differences between English and American pool tables. I had had no clue about them and I thought it would be a fun way to have Sherlock show off a little in front of John. We all love to see Sherlock acting all clever, don't we? I hope you enjoyed reading the scene as much as I did in writing it. Perhaps I taught my readers something!

Oh, and I want to thank a former reader for telling me about Babymoon packages - yes these really exist!

Sadly, I feel like not many people are bothering to read this story which is so close to my heart. Please send me some love with your follows/favourites and reviews. It would be very encouraging to see those numbers increase a little. Clicking the follow or favourite button only takes a second and would mean a lot to me.

For now, I will be putting this story on hiatus until after Christmas in order to replace its usual Friday slot with my Christmas story. Months ago, I would have just published the Christmas story in addition to my usual ongoing stories, but I find it difficult to manage more than two chapters a week anymore. Editing and proofreading can be a rather arduous process and my continuing tendonitis issues means preparing a chapter adds additional stress and pain to my arms. So, please bear with me. This story will resume in the new year and in the meantime, if you are not planning to follow my Christmas story, I wish you all a blessed Christmas and best wishes for a happy and productive 2020.

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	11. Time with Friends and Family

**Special note: **Since early December, the site has not been sending email notifications of pm's. If you leave a review, please be assured I will respond to it, so check your inbox. Responding to reviews has always been an important part of my dialogue with readers. I appreciate each and every one. The same applies if you follow and favourite - I will send you a pm thanking you for that as well.

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Following the arrival of the Watsons, while Sherlock showed John to the bedrooms his family would be using, the rest of the family, except for Mycroft who was still hidden away somewhere doing work, Victoria and Rosie who seemed more interested in discussing their latest Harry Potter book, and Violet Holmes who was having a rest in her armchair, headed outside to the back where they could play some cricket, this time with Adam joining in.

Elizabeth gamely volunteered to be the wicket keeper for both sides and two teams were assembled. Mark and the twins formed a team, and Molly formed the other with Adam and Christina. Kayla remained on the rear terrace, shaded by the big umbrella, looking on with Johannah who had fallen asleep in her arms. She agreed to be scorekeeper. Molly expected that John and Sherlock would be out soon to join them.

Molly acted as bowler first and was able to strike the wickets to get her sons out in short order, but Mark was a fine sportsman and easily batted away her efforts several times, scoring some runs, traveling a predetermined loop. He scored seven runs before he hit the ball into the air and Christina caught it.

By this time ten minutes had elapsed and there was no sign of Sherlock or John. Molly wondered idly what had become of them, but decided to continue their game. As the youngest, Christina went in to bat first. She scored two runs against Mark's bowling but was clean-bowled by a ball she misjudged and lifted the bat too high. Adam scored one run before hitting the ball into the air in between the twins. They were both heading for the ball but, not surprisingly, Noah held back and allowed Scott to make the catch. Molly caught Christina's little smirk and she knew her daughter was secretly glad to have done better than her friend.

The it was Molly's turn to bat. She knew Mark had been bowling gently to the children but he definitely was not doing the same for her. She narrowed her eyes, concentrating as he tried to surprise her with a yorker. Unfazed, Molly swung the bat accurately and hit the ball, sending it flying past Mark. She managed two runs before he was able to retrieve the ball and bring it back.

"Go, Mummy!" yelled Christina encouragingly.

Molly returned to her stance and waited for the next ball. It came towards her and she nicked it with the edge of the bat, sending it behind Elizabeth. With nobody manning the area behind the wicket except Elizabeth, whose reflexes were not fast enough to catch the ball, Molly was able to gain another run.

Molly waited for the next ball. "You can do it, Mummy!" yelled Christina again and Molly grinned. She was having so much fun. She missed the next ball but fortunately it bounced over the wickets and was caught by Elizabeth.

Molly managed another run to equalise the score before attempting a run and getting run out when Mark picked up the ball and threw it to Elizabeth who knocked it into the wickets before Molly returned to the safety of her crease - a line that had been made with the use of a garden rake.

By this time it had been half an hour since Sherlock and John had gone upstairs. She spoke to the other cricket players. "Why don't we stop for a break and have something to drink?"

While everyone else headed back around the side of the house to go to the kitchen, Molly decided to go through the garden room entrance.

She had no sooner made her way to the games room when she discovered why her husband and his best friend were not outside. They were having a game of pool.

She stood in the doorway to the games room and watched as Sherlock hit the white ball against the black and it went into a corner pocket. She could tell by his posture and the way he wiggled his bottom that he knew she was there. She had often teased him about how sexy his bum was and how squeezable. Oh yes, he knew she was there. She smiled at John even as Sherlock offered his polite words to his friend then turned to her with a "Hello, sweetheart," confirming her own deduction that he knew she was standing there.

She walked over and kissed his cheek. "Hi, honey, I was wondering what happened to you. I thought you'd come outside and play some more cricket."

He gave her a slightly guilty look. "Thought I'd have a quick game of pool with John first."

"And give me a lecture about the differences between English and American pool tables," put in John with a grin.

Sherlock frowned. "I was not lecturing, merely informing, John."

John shrugged. "Same difference."

Molly looked at John. "Was he giving you instructions on correct technique as well? He pretty much ruined the fun of the game for me because of that."

John smirked. "I guessed as much when he decided to give me pointers."

"Quit talking about me as if I'm not here," said Sherlock, giving Molly a petulant look, and she took his arm. "Come on outside then. Everyone just went to get a quick drink before playing some more."

Sherlock looked at her. "You don't want a drink as well?"

Molly shrugged. "I'm okay."

The three of them headed outside through the garden room and sat at the table until the others returned, save Kayla who had remained inside to entertain Johannah who had awakened from her nap.

Sherlock and John joined in, Sherlock playing with his sons and Mark, while John joined Molly's team. The teams were quite evenly matched. Elizabeth took over Kayla's role of keeping score.

After about an hour, Molly decided it was time she headed inside to help with dinner preparations. Elizabeth also announced her intention to help. Everyone trooped inside for another drink and a biscuit. Molly couldn't help laughing at Sherlock's disappointed expression as the container of ginger nuts was sadly depleted. She shook her head in amusement. "You and your ginger nuts!"

Violet Holmes was already in the kitchen, preparing the lamb roast with rosemary and garlic for the oven as well as a smaller beef roast for anyone who did not care much for lamb. As soon as the tired cricket players had finished their biscuits and drinks, she shooed them back out, except for Molly and Elizabeth.

Once the others had returned outside, the younger women picked up potato peelers and peeled an enormous amount of potatoes. Mrs. Holmes sliced them into smaller pieces and put them into a salted pot of water so they wouldn't go brown while waiting to put them in the oven later to roast.

Next, the women prepared the apple crumble for dessert like a well-oiled machine.

Violet Holmes had set out unsalted butter to soften while the potatoes were being prepared. While she and Elizabeth took care of peeling and cutting the apples, Molly measured out the ingredients for the crumble topping as well as flour, brown sugar and cinnamon to be mixed with the apples.

She cut the butter into the crumble mixture, rubbing it through the blended ingredients until it resembled breadcrumbs.

By the time she was finished, the other women had placed the apple filling into two greased, square glass dishes. Molly spread the crumble topping onto the apples and the two dishes were set aside to be put in the oven after dinner. Custard was to be made later to serve hot with the crumble.

Finally, carrots, parsnips and onions were readied for roasting as well and the women took some time to have a cup of tea at the kitchen table. Molly noticed that her mother-in-law seemed more relaxed, the careworn, sad expression that had been on her face since they arrived had, at least temporarily, disappeared.

After their tea, Violet said, "Why don't you two go back outside and enjoy yourselves for a while. I'm going to just put the roast in the oven and then I think I might come outside as well for a short time. Thank you for helping me with the preparations."

Molly gave her mother-in-law a hug. "I'm always happy to help, Mummy," she responded, the name coming easily from her lips after so many years of using it by now.

"As am I, Violet," said Elizabeth, also offering her mother-in-law a brief hug.

The two younger women headed outside via the garden room. The games room was empty this time. As soon as they went outside, they saw that the rest of the family was there. Even Mycroft was sitting at the round table with his laptop, although he seemed to be watching the cricket action. Rosie and Victoria had also joined in with the cricket game somewhat to Molly's surprise. Kayla was seated in a chair also at the table, reading a book to Johannah.

Sherlock happened to be at bat and Molly watched as the bat connected with a a ball bowled by John. The ball sailed away over everyone's heads some distance beyond. Molly couldn't help feeling a little impressed. As with almost everything else, Sherlock was good at sports and his arm strength was rather intimidating. If they had been playing traditional rules of cricket, with predetermined areas for what constituted a four and a six, that hit would undoubtedly have been a six. As it was, he managed five runs before the ball was returned by Christina who was a fast runner for her age and had volunteered to get the ball.

Molly noted that Mark had taken on the position of wicket keeper for both teams to keep the numbers even, and she could see that the other girls had joined their fathers' teams.

"Kayla, would you like me to take care of Johannah for awhile so you can play as well?" asked Elizabeth, looking down at mother and daughter.

Kayla smiled gratefully. "Oh, that would be lovely. I haven't played cricket for ages and it looks like everyone is having so much fun."

Fortunately, Johannah was a placid little child who did not mind being passed around from person to person. She made no protest at the transfer and Kayla and Molly joined the game with their respective spouses.

Molly saw Violet Holmes come outside to sit on the terrace and observe as well.

The families enjoyed a friendly game for another half hour, not bothering to keep score anymore, and Molly thoroughly enjoyed herself. Shrieks of laughter and groans of disappointment filled the area at various times and Molly noticed the smile on Violet Holmes's face as she watched.

Finally, the adults decided it was time to pack up and return inside. Everyone scattered to clean hands (and knees in some cases), have a drink and use the toilet.

Molly returned to the kitchen with Elizabeth and Kayla to finish the dinner preparations. With 15 people, it was decided that Sherlock, Molly, their children and Violet would sit in the kitchen, while the rest of the family sat at the dining table. Victoria and Rosie were enlisted to set the table.

Sherlock's mother prepared the Yorkshire pudding so that it was ready to come out of the oven at the same time as the vegetables. The roasts had already been removed to make way for the puddings.

Sherlock took care of carving the roasts and all the food was set on both tables even as the apple crumble went into the oven.

Molly looked around at her family and mother-in-law and she ate the delicious meal, reflecting upon how grateful she was to have such a loving family. Yes, the children bickered at times over who was to eat what, and usually the instigator was Christina, but for the most part, the dinner conversation was a merry one as the children answered their grandmother's questions on what they had been up to over the past few weeks.

Once everyone had finished eating, Mrs. Holmes rose to start preparing the custard for the crumble, while various members of the families took care of putting away leftovers, getting dirty dishes into the dishwasher and cleaning up.

After the delicious crumble with custard was enjoyed by everyone, kayla produced the game _Bubble Talk._

Sherlock and Molly had purchased the game for her during their trip to America when Molly had been pregnant with Victoria. Molly herself had received the game from her best friend from work, Kaitlyn, on her hen night. Kaitlyn, who had an American mother, had purchased the game in the States on one of her annual visits after playing it with her American relatives. The game used pictures and the players received cards that they used to try and best describe the picture. Each round had a different person determining the best caption, and the winner of each round received the card so no scorecard was necessary. This made it a fun game for all the family and practically limitless as far as the number of participants. Molly still recalled with fondness the first time she had played the game on her hen night and Mrs. Hudson had been the victor.

The families gathered together in the sitting room, children on the floor and adults in various chairs, with a couple additional dining chairs brought into the room to accommodate them. The only people who did not participate were Mycroft, Who obviously felt himself above such frivolous pursuits, and Johannah who of course was too young to read. The twins could read fairly well for their age, but Molly felt it would be better if they played with an adult, so she played with Scott and Sherlock played with Noah. Molly suggested that Christina might like to play with someone else, but her daughter flatly refused, stating categorically that she did not need help from anyone.

"I can read as good as anyone else," she pronounced, folding her arms, and Molly's lips quirked. She was tempted to correct her daughter's grammar, but felt it was not worth the embarrassment or receiving the evil eye from Christina on being corrected in public.

The enjoyable game commenced, with the idea that the winner would be the one who had the best caption on three occasions rather than five, due to the large size of the group.

At one point in the game, three of the chosen captions for one card were "I love you", "Will you marry me" and "You have beautiful eyes...come here often?" Sherlock and Molly exchanged glances from their positions across from one another, both with a son in their laps. Molly knew that Sherlock was also remembering her long ago apology to him on her hen night where she had used those three cards as part of it, pushing them through the crack at the bottom of the bathroom door.

Sherlock had returned from his stag night smelling of another woman's perfume, having been dragged into a strip club for fun by Greg, John and a less enthusiastic Mycroft, where he had seen and been approached by a woman, Kitty, who had tried to discredit him years earlier with the false Richard Brook allegations. Molly had been a little intoxicated from strawberry margaritas and had initially refused to let Sherlock explain what had happened. Finally though, while he was taking a shower and she had spent some time crying, she came to her senses and realised Sherlock would never betray her with another woman, so she had used the cards from her new _Bubble Talk_ game to fashion an apology. The apology had been accepted of course and it had almost led to them making love with only a week to go before the wedding, but clearer heads had prevailed, mostly on Snerlock's part, and they had restrained themselves.

A slight smile danced along Sherlock's lips now and she wondered if he would follow through with his declaration that morning, or find himself thinking about his father once again.

Shaking her head slightly to clear her head of those thoughts, Molly went back to concentrating on the game, which was won by Mark. The decision was made to play another round. It was still early and everyone was enjoying themselves. Two more games followed, the next being won by Adam and the last by Sherlock and a delighted Noah. Molly noticed with amusement that Christina, who had managed to gain two cards in both games, looked decidedly disappointed. For once though, she didn't complain that anyone had been cheating.

Molly heard the grandfather clock in the other room strike nine as the game was being packed up, and she realised it was time to get the boys to bed. They were looking rather tired. Johannah had fallen asleep again on Kayla's lap. Even Christina and Adam were rubbing their eyes.

By the time Molly had tucked the boys into bed and seen that the girls were also headed off to bed with their grandma after she kissed them goodnight, it was close to nine-thirty.

She said goodnight to the others, and Sherlock told her he'd be up soon. He wanted to speak with Mycroft about what time they planned to go to the funeral home the next day.

Before getting ready for bed herself, Molly decided to check her phone and see if she had any messages. She had turned it off while the family had been playing their game. When she powered the device on, she saw there was a text from Greg's wife, Lori.

_Hi Molly. I wanted to give you a few days before sending you a message. I'm so sorry about the loss of your father-in-law. You have been in my thoughts and prayers. How are you and the family doing?_

The text had come in a couple hours earlier and Molly tapped out a response.

_Thanks, Lori. I really appreciate it. We had a rough couple of days, but we are getting through it. We know that Sherlock's father is now with Jesus which is a comfort to all of us. There have definitely been a lot of tears though and obviously, it's never easy to deal with the loss of someone who is so dear to us._

Molly set down her phone and started to get ready for bed, taking her hair out of the ponytail she had worn for the day and unbuttoning her blouse. Her phone pinged and she checked it to see a response from her friend.

_There is definitely a good measure of comfort to be had when you know someone has gone on to be with the Lord, but of course, it's natural for us to want them to stay with us, _her friend had responded, continuing with, _Greg said you were heading down to Sussex and I assume you are there now. I found it very interesting to see that the funeral is only set for Tuesday. Things usually move much faster in the United States and I think that is definitely helpful for closure._

Molly's eyebrows lifted in surprise at this news. She wasn't familiar with death and burial rituals in America and decided to ask her American-born friend a question.

_What is the typical turnaround time between death and burial in America then? Here, one to two weeks isn't unusual and many times it is even longer if a post-mortem is required following a death._

Molly sent off the text and continued to get ready for bed. Sherlock was still downstairs and she decided to put on her chemise again rather than slide into bed naked. If he wanted to make love, she could easily take it off or better yet, he could remove it from her. She decided not to bother with her knickers though.

She had just settled into bed when her phone pinged once more.

_Gosh, I think typically funerals take place in under a week unless there are relatives that are coming from a longer distance and accommodations need to be made for that. I'll be thinking of you and praying for you on Tuesday. I wish we could be with you to support you, but Greg's work schedule has been crazy and it would be a bit difficult for me to make the trip without him, with the kids to contend with. I'm so sorry for that :(_

Molly hastened to respond with, _Of course I understand, Lori. We have the Watsons here with us so don't worry, there's plenty of support for us. I'll talk with you again once we are back in London. We must get together again soon when things aren't so busy for Greg. God bless._

Lori's answering _God bless you as well, my friend, _came through a minute later and Molly set her phone down on the bedside table.

Sherlock entered the room minutes later and Molly asked, as he removed his shoes, "Is everything organised for tomorrow?"

"Yes," he responded, shrugging out of his shirt and placing it on the dressing table. "We are going to head to the funeral home to be there at around one o'clock."

"Glad that's sorted." Molly watched as Sherlock removed his trousers, then his socks, leaving them bunched as usual on the floor. She couldn't help rolling her eyes a little. Ten years of marriage and he still forgot to unroll his socks more often than not. His back was to her as he then dropped his boxers and she caught a glimpse of those still extremely fine buttocks just before he turned and slipped into bed beside her.

He frowned slightly at her then and she was a little confused until he asked, "Why did you put on your chemise, Molly? Did I not make myself clear this morning about wanting to demonstrate my affections?" His expression changed to one of concern. "Or are you not in the mood? If that's the case, I understand and we can just cuddle."

She moved closer to him and reached to trail a hand along his bare hip beneath the covers. "I just didn't want to make any assumptions in case you changed your mind. If you had come upstairs after your conversation with Mycroft and had been upset, I didn't want you to force yourself to be with me just for my sake."

Sherlock arms reached then to draw her closer and his hands moved to lift her chemise. "Well, you aren't forcing me to do anything, love. I love you and I want to be with you tonight." His own hand grazed her hip bone and he smirked a little. "At least you had the foresight to forgo the knickers."

Molly smiled with relief, raising her arms above her head. "Well, I suppose you could undress me properly," she said, giving her husband a suggestive look.

Sherlock complied then moved his body over hers to kiss her lips.

Molly sighed with pleasure. She couldn't help it. Every time Sherlock kissed her was still a thrill. His warm, sensuous lips always sent those flickers of flame rising within her when their bodies were so close, especially when they were skin-to-skin.

And his hands, oh how his hands caressed every sensitive part of her body, cupping her breasts and squeezing them gently, his thumbs brushing at the peaks which responded to his touch. Her hands gripped his shoulders as he focussed every ounce of his attention on her as her body arched in response to those tender caresses.

Sherlock's mouth returned to claim hers and silence the gasps she couldn't contain as sensation crashed over her even as his own body joined with hers, prolonging that feeling of bliss, of being one, as close as possible to the man she loved.

When Sherlock's breath fanned her neck and he let out that long, deep, familiar sigh as he too found fulfillment in her, Molly stroked his hair and held him to her for several minutes as their breathing slowed and pulses regulated.

At last Sherlock lifted himself up, supporting his weight with one arm while using his other hand to trace it lovingly along the side of her face. "My beautiful wife," he whispered, bending his head to touch her lips once again with his own briefly. "You are utterly captivating."

These were words he'd used before, in fact, Sherlock often expressed similar sentiments following a passionate session of lovemaking, but it never got old to hear them. "And you were spectacular, as usual," she offered in return, as her hands gently caressed his back.

He moved to ease himself off her body and she almost sighed at the loss of his warmth, but of course he didn't waste much time before he had pulled her close into their usual spooning position, this time warming her back instead of her chest. His arm curved around her body, finding its usual place against her breast and she gave a little sigh of contentment before closing her eyes and letting sleep claim her.

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**Author's note:** Well, I hope you are happy to see this story resume after a three week hiatus!

This chapter was very much about showing the Holmes and Watson families. If you are familiar with cricket, I hope you enjoyed imagining them playing the game, if not, perhaps you learned something!

As often happens in the way my stories interconnect, there are references here in regard to _Bubble Talk _(a game I highly recommend) and things that took place on Molly's hen night. Those are memories from scenes you can find in my initial story _A Journey to Love, Faith and Marriage. _If you haven't read it, I am confident you will find the time investment worthwhile in reading the first post TFP story I wrote for them.

Also thanks **compmom1** for her suggestion on incorporating discussion about some of the differences between American and English funeral practices into the story rather than just putting it into an author's note. It helps to have an American character who can express these things!

As always, hearing from readers and discussing the story with them really makes my days brighter. Please share your thoughts with me.


	12. A Sombre Day

**Special note: **Funeral home viewing details ahead.

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Sherlock's eyes opened to discover he had shifted position during the night and his body was no longer encircling Molly's. Instead, he had turned at some point and he could feel her body pressed against his back, her own arm loosely draped over his body. He could detect a slight sheen of perspiration on his skin and didn't know why. The exertions of the night before had also caused some perspiration but that would definitely have dissipated so many hours later, as he observed pale sunshine already filtering through the curtains.

He shifted slightly and felt Molly's fingers flex against his skin, indicating that she too was awake. He turned around and pressed his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. "Good morning, love,"he said, linking his fingers with hers.

She smiled at him, the dimple appearing in her cheek. "Good morning, yourself. How did you sleep? You seemed rather restless last night. Were you bothered by dreams?"

Sherlock's brow furrowed and he struggled to remember. Had he indeed dreamed? Discombobulated images came into his mind, his father, lying so still and lifeless in the hospital bed; his mother in similar repose - one a true memory, the other one something he feared. Another image came to him then, one that had also been in a dream years earlier, when he had been newly engaged - that of Molly in a coffin. That original dream had been a horrible nightmare where Moriarty had taunted him and Molly's chest cavity had been exposed with a hole where her heart should have been. Moriarty had presented him with a package identical to the gift Molly had intended for Sherlock on that fateful Christmas. When Sherlock had opened it he had found a burned, shrivelled heart that supposedly belonged to Molly. This dream had been nowhere near as graphic, but just the idea of Molly being in a coffin made him close his eyes in anguish for a moment and shudder.

"What is it, honey?" she asked, tightening her fingers on his.

"It's...it's nothing." He swallowed. "Just vague images of my father and mother being dead and of you in the damned coffin Eurus had in that room."

Molly's eyes widened in shock. "Oh, Sherlock, that's terrible." She reached for him instinctively and he allowed her to pull him into her soft embrace. He rested his head on her chest as he had done two nights earlier, inhaling the always sweet smell of her skin, as she stroked her hand through his curls, then gently massaged his shoulders. It was odd how she still would give him almost a maternal love at times, how he could feel protected by her, rather than the other way around.

Finally, when he felt the knots of tension in his shoulder that he hadn't realised were there ease, he pulled back from Molly and said, "I suppose we should get up, otherwise we'll be the last ones down again like yesterday."

Molly sighed. "Is it selfish of me to wish we could remain locked away in here and not have to think about anything but being together?"

Sherlock took her hands, pulling her up to a sitting position. "Then I must be selfish too. I'd rather not face what lays ahead today either." There was a rather rueful twist to his lips as he made the admission.

Quietly they got out of bed and dressed for the day, a little less casually than the day before, knowing they would be visiting the funeral home in the afternoon.

It was definitely earlier than the previous day and the house still seemed quiet, although Sherlock felt certain his mother would already be up. She had always been an early riser.

Molly headed off to check whether the girls were up while Sherlock went to his old room to wake the twins. As he passed the kitchen, he popped his head in and was not surprised to see his mother already there. He entered, gave her a quick kiss of greeting then went upstairs.

The boys were still asleep, sharing the bed that had been his when he had returned home occasionally for visits during his uni years and beyond. He stood at the foot of the bed for some moments, observing their angelic little countenances, reflecting that they really did resemble him as he had been at the same age, at least judging by pictures in his mother's photo albums. He still had very few memories of his childhood years, in particular, those from when the family had lived at Musgrave Hall.

Sherlock recalled looking at the photo albums a couple times when he had been a teenager. There were not too many because a great deal of the family's photo and early video collection had been destroyed in the fire at Musgrave Hall. All photos of Eurus had also been deliberately omitted. In the years since Sherrinford, there had been a couple of photos added to the end of one of those albums that included Eurus, ones Sherlock's mother had secretly kept hidden away, a baby picture, a picture of her with her brothers at the beach, one of her with her parents as a toddler. There was also a photo of Sherlock with his friend Victor, dressed as pirates, that Violet Holmes had also kept hidden through the years and had finally added to the same album with the restored Eurus photos.

Even as Sherlock thought he'd have to show his sons those family photos when they were a little older, Noah stirred, accidentally stretched his hand out and smacked Scott on the arm, eliciting a startled, "Ow!"

Ten minutes later, Sherlock had helped the boys get dressed and they headed downstairs to the kitchen. He had asked who had woken them the previous day and discovered it had been their grandmother who had entered the room with Victoria and Christina who had already been dressed. Victoria had taken charge of her brothers in helping them get dressed as Sherlock's mother and Christina had then gone downstairs.

He entered the kitchen with the boys. Molly was there with the girls and Sherlock's mother, but on this occasion the rest of the family and the Watsons were not yet downstairs. Cereal and toast seemed to be the order of the day rather than a hot meal which was fine with Sherlock. A hot meal for such a large gathering would not have been practical.

He helped himself to some toast that was already on the table and spread it with butter and honey while Molly brought him over a cup of coffee.

He smiled at her. "Thank you, beautiful," he said, noting the way her face lit up at his compliment. Giving and receiving compliments was something that never got old. Sherlock rather thought that if anyone asked him for advice or wanted to know the secret to a good marriage, he'd be able to tell them. There were a lot of things of course that contributed to the success of his marriage with Molly, constant communication, compromise, not taking each other for granted. But it was more than that. It was still indulging in flirtation, lots of kissing, verbal and physical affirmations of their abiding love, not to mention still enjoying intimacy frequently. Of course, it didn't hurt that Sherlock and Molly shared the same faith as well; that was definitely an important aspect to their relationship.

"You're welcome, gorgeous," she said in return to his compliment and Sherlock noticed a slight eye-roll from Victoria but pretended not to notice. At least she didn't make any comment when Molly leaned down to give him a quick kiss before sitting back down herself. That was progress.

The family had just finished breakfast when the other house party guests appeared to take their place at the kitchen table and there was the usual round of "Good morning" and "How did you sleep?" queries as Sherlock, Molly and their children removed their plates to make way for the others to eat their own breakfast.

They left the kitchen together and Scott asked Sherlock, "Are we going to play cricket again today, Daddy?"

"Not today, son," responded Sherlock gravely. "We don't want to get dirty before we go to the funeral home this afternoon."

Scott's face clouded. "Oh, I forgot."

A sudden sense of sadness filled the air and Sherlock was relieved when Molly suggested quickly, "Why don't we play some team chess instead?"

Unfortunately, Scott was not overly enthusiastic at this suggestion as his eyes, so similar to Molly's, filled with tears and he folded his arms. "Don't wanna play chess. It hurts my brain too much."

Noah, however, said, "I'd play chess but someone would have to help me to get better at it."

Victoria and Christina both expressed their wishes to wait for Rosie and Adam respectively to finish breakfast so they could do something with them.

In the end it was decided that Sherlock help Noah learn the finer aspects of chess while Molly would play a pretend game of pool with Scott. He would use his hands and she would use a cue.

The girls did end up beginning a chess game temporarily which they abandoned once the Watson children entered the room. Sherlock watched as the four headed off to do who-knew-what. John and Kayla appeared with Johannah and walked through the games room to spend some time together with their daughter on the back terrace. Sherlock then returned to instructing his son on how to anticipate certain moves by an opposing player and offering strategies.

Every now and then Sherlock would look over to Molly and their eyes would meet. The time was drawing closer to the visitation at the funeral home and Sherlock found himself losing focus after an hour with Noah.

_How am I going to feel, seeing my dad laid out in a coffin? _he wondered silently as he and Noah began replacing the chess pieces on the board in readiness for the next player.

Scott and Molly had also finished their "game" and Noah asked Scott if he would like to play a game of draughts. The second chessboard was subsequently set up for it and the boys went over to play a game while Sherlock approached Molly.

She slipped her hand into his; as usual she could read him so well. "I can tell by the look in your eyes that you're thinking about this afternoon," she said softly, squeezing his hand. "I did speak to the girls already again this morning to prepare them. I know it's going to be difficult, but remember, we know where your dad is now."

Sherlock nodded. "I understand that, but I confess that I am a little concerned that I might just lose control when we are in the room and I'm actually looking at him." His lips tightened. "I don't want to be the cause of anyone else's distress, to exacerbate it."

Molly rested her head against his shoulder briefly before looking up at him. "Nobody will think less of you if you are emotional, honey. It's going to be emotional for all of us, just as it will be tomorrow as well. These are going to be our hardest days and we just have to hold onto one another and our faith."

Sherlock felt a renewed surge of overwhelming love for his wife. She was his rock and she always knew the right thing to say. "Thank you, sweetheart. I'll try to keep that in mind when we arrive."

For the rest of the morning, Sherlock found himself wandering from room to room, talking with various people, not really remembering what he talked about, just that it was general conversation. He was trying very hard not to think about what would happen after lunch.

Finally though, lunch was finished and it was time to leave for the funeral home in Brighton.

The housekeeper, Donna, had arrived and was doing her usual twice-weekly cleaning of the house. She expressed her condolences to the rest of the family.

Kayla had opted to remain at the house with Johannah who was too young to understand what was going on. The rest of the Watson family joined Sherlock's family in the limo while Mycroft transported Elizabeth, Mark and his mother. It was easier to deal with two vehicles.

The limo dropped off the Holmes and Watson families directly in front of the funeral home and they stood and waited while Mycroft dropped off his mother and Elizabeth, then found a parking space nearby.

Once he and Mark joined everyone else, they went inside.

The interior of the funeral home was tastefully decorated and solemn looking, Sherlock observed. There was a quiet atmosphere and he was thankful there didn't appear to be any people around aside from a couple attendants, so apparently there was no other grieving family present for another viewing today.

The family and friends were shown to the entrance of a room. It was quite simply decorated with only two chairs and the coffin dominated it. There were several large floral arrangements in the room as well and Sherlock knew these would be placed on the coffin lid the following morning for the funeral service.

Sherlock was able to see that the coffin was in a light oak with gold handles, and he could just glimpse that the interior was lined with white, reminiscent of the coffin Eurus had had placed in that room at Sherrinford. He tried not to think about that. Nevertheless, Sherlock swallowed hard, recalling that had been the last time he had seen a coffin and before that, not too much earlier, he had quietly helped Mycroft pick a coffin for Mary, unbeknownst to John, and had seen it at her funeral from the back of the church.

The family stood in groups to wait their turn, with John and his older two children at the rear.

Sherlock was rather glad he could not see his father immediately, as the view was mostly obscured by his mother and his brother and family.

He watched Violet approach the coffin as Noah reached for his hand and Christina did the same with his other hand. Victoria and Scott were holding Molly's hands.

Violet Holmes spent a couple minutes at the coffin, gazing down at her late husband, and when Mycroft shifted his position slightly, Sherlock could see his mother reaching to presumably touch his father's face.

When she moved away, turning in Sherlock's direction, he could see the tears coming silently down her cheeks and Sherlock bit his lip viciously, almost drawing blood, in an attempt to not allow his own tears to flow. He had to at least wait until it was his turn at the coffin.

Mycroft then approached the coffin, as did Elizabeth and Mark as well. Sherlock and his family moved a little closer. It felt as if he was in line, waiting his turn to go on a funfair ride, and the irony of it all almost made him put a hand over his face. Of course he couldn't do that though with both hands being held by two of his offspring.

Having ended their own silent vigil, Mycroft and his family moved aside. Sherlock was sure he saw a suspicion of tears in Mycroft's eyes. Elizabeth's eyes also held moisture while Mark was not bothering to hide his own grief and tears. He was definitely unlike his father in that regard.

"You go ahead," whispered Molly. There was definitely no room for the six of them to view the coffin at once.

Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath, then walked the last few steps towards the coffin and looked at its inhabitant. His first thought was surprise at how peaceful his father looked. Without that circular piece of tubing in his dad's mouth as it had been at the hospital, his father could have been merely sleeping. He immediately recognised the suit as the one his father had worn for his and Molly's wedding.

The burn of tears then hit Sherlock. _This is my father. This is the last time I'll see him. _Sherlock looked down through the sheen of tears in his eyes at Noah who was tugging at his hand. "Daddy, I can't see Grandpa. I want to see him."

It wasn't until that moment that Sherlock realised his son was unable to peer into the coffin over the raised dais on which it rested.

Releasing Christina's hand, he swung Noah up into his arms, noting that Molly was doing the same in preparation for her own vigil.

"He looks so peaceful," said Noah, then his big blue eyes filled with tears and he let out a little sob. "I miss him, Daddy."

Sherlock would have spoken words of comfort when Christina spoke first. "Daddy, look at Grandpa's lips. They aren't blue anymore, they're pink."

Indeed they were. One of the side effects of the COPD meant a lack of oxygen to William Holmes's lips and they had always had a bluish cast to them which the children had found fascinating. Sherlock still remembered Christina asking her grandfather the previous year whether he was wearing blue lipstick and the family had had a little giggle at that.

Now he responded to Christina. "Yes, there are special people who would have made sure your grandpa looked peaceful, as if he is just sleeping."

"Well, I don't like it," responded Christina, and there was a tremble in her voice. "He doesn't look like him so much with pink lips."

Sherlock touched his free hand to his daughter's head. "I know, poppet, but this is the way he would have looked if he hadn't had the disease that made his lips look blue all the time."

Noah had burrowed his face against Sherlock's shoulder and he felt the moisture of tears spread over his shirt.

He was rather amazed when Christina reached into the coffin, she could just manage it on tiptoes, and touch her grandpa's cheek. "Goodbye, Grandpa," she said in a choked little voice. "See you in heaven."

"Goodbye, Daddy," said Sherlock, reaching his own hand to touch his father's face one last time. Then, as his own tears spilled over, he moved aside so Molly could take her turn with their other two children.

Through his own haze of tears, Sherlock noted that Molly was already crying, as was Victoria. Scott was clinging to Molly tightly and barely glanced at his grandfather before bursting into loud, noisy sobs that echoed throughout the small room.

Again, Sherlock observed as his wife and daughter made their farewells and came to stand near him and his other two children.

John moved forward to stand quietly for a few moments before the coffin with his two elder children and Sherlock wondered how his friend was doing. The last time John would have viewed a coffin was when it had contained his late wife. Of course, he had experienced the loss of both of his parents as well before Sherlock had known him so he was well acquainted with death.

John came over then to rest a hand on Sherlock's arm. "He was a good man," he said softly, blinking back a few tears of his own even as Rosie and Adam hugged their good friends and quietly commiserated with them.

The family spent another ten minutes in the room, silently expressing their grief. in tears of sorrow and loss, much as they had done at the hospital. Violet Holmes returned to the coffin to press a kiss to her husband's forehead and then walked slowly from the room, indicating it was time to leave. Sherlock glanced once more towards his father, as did almost everyone else, and then followed his mother.

Sherlock saw Mycroft pull out his phone and call the chauffeur. He then spoke quietly to the funeral director, and Sherlock knew his brother was confirming the arrangements for the following day. The family would not be going to the cemetery after the service for the burial, and the pallbearers, men whom Violet had asked from church, would merely assist in taking the coffin from the hearse into the church and then back to it. The funeral director would oversee the burial. This had been at Violet Holmes's insistence, saying the service should be a celebration of life, and that she did not wish to mourn at a graveside. Instead, there was to be a wake at the church following the funeral service. Mycroft and his mother had arranged for it to be catered, and several members of the church would make sure the hall was ready and take care of the clean-up afterwards.

Sherlock recalled that Molly had offered her own services at funeral wakes at their church as well on a couple occasions over the last few years when there had been the death of a church member. She had attended the funerals as well, but had not asked Sherlock to go with her, understanding how difficult it would be after having experienced the coffin-related trauma that still haunted his dreams on occasion as it had the previous night.

Sherlock was surprised to see it was only two-thirty when they arrived back at the house. Kayla opened the front door to admit everyone when they arrived and he saw her give Molly a hug and ask how things had gone.

There was no sign of Johannah. Sherlock spied a video monitor on a table and saw that she was upstairs sleeping.

The mood of the household was generally lethargic for the rest of the afternoon. People scattered to do different things and Sherlock sat in front of the television with the twins, watching programmes he didn't remember later. He felt melancholy as his mind drifted through various images of times spent with his father, most of which had been since he had been with Molly. He did recall an earlier memory though, one that had been with his parents just after he had reconciled his differences with John following his return to London after his two-year absence. He remembered the way his mother had teased his father about always losing his glasses and she had told him he should have a chain around his neck for them. When he had come to the house for Christmas later in the year, on that fateful day when he had made his grave miscalculation about Charles Magnussen, William Holmes had indeed had a chain attached to his glasses. But that wasn't even the funniest thing.

It had been rather ironic really that mere months later, during Sherlock and Molly's engagement, he had discovered he needed reading glasses. He had subsequently discovered he too had a propensity towards losing them as well. This errant thought made Sherlock smile a little at his inner reflection. To this day, he still managed to misplace his reading glasses at least twice a month and Molly Was more often than not the one who found them. She had suggested he also wear a chain around his neck with the glasses attached, but he had adamantly refused. So, yes, on more than one occasion he discovered his reading glasses pushed to the top of his head when he had been wearing them and subsequently been distracted by something else, but that didn't make him an absentminded professor. He just had more important things with which to occupy his mind than the location of his reading glasses. Instead of getting a chain which would have been a total embarrassment - really, who would want to see the great detective Sherlock Holmes wandering around with a pair of reading glasses hanging around his neck, after all? he thought, he just made sure he always had a couple of extra pairs of glasses tucked away in case one went missing temporarily. Problem solved.

Dinner that night was also a quiet affair, not the sit-down one of the previous night. There were plenty of leftovers as well as still some various things that had been brought by kind church members, so the microwave and stove were put to good use heating up various foods to feed everyone. Sherlock himself really wasn't hungry, but had accepted the sandwich Molly had insisted on making for him. She never allowed him to just skip a meal if she was anywhere near him. The only times he skipped meals was when he was out on a case and away from his wife. Even then, she would usually reprimand him for not eating and force him to eat something as soon as he arrived home.

After dinner, Violet Holmes retired early, pleading a headache. She insisted that the girls did not need to come up right away, but requested that they just be quiet when they did so later.

The children brought out board games to play, and John asked Sherlock if he and Molly would like to play a "couples" game of pool with Kayla and himself.

Sherlock considered suggesting Mark replace him, he was not really in the mood for pool, but the young man had disappeared upstairs, saying he needed to take care of some things for work. Sherlock hoped he wouldn't become as much of a workaholic as his father.

Half-heartedly, Sherlock agreed to the game. Molly and Kayla were already in the games room and Johannah was subsequently entertained by whomever was not currently playing as the game ensued.

Sherlock found it did serve as a welcome distraction from his thoughts and felt grateful that John had suggested it. He was able to make up for his wife's deficiencies in the game and win it as well. He rather suspected Molly had been deliberately trying to play badly so that John and Kayla would at least have some chance of an even game.

They played one more game and this time Sherlock was certain Molly was playing badly on purpose. She hit the white ball into a pocket on almost every turn, allowing John extra foul shots, and the Watsons subsequently won the game. He smiled wryly at that but did not make a comment about it. He could allow the other couple their victory.

By then it was time to get the children ready for bed with baths and showers. It wasn't very late, but the family were planning to be at the church an hour before the eleven o'clock funeral service and the children required a good night's rest.

Finally, Sherlock found himself in the bedroom with Molly and watched her remove her blouse and trousers as he took off his shirt. She looked at him a little questioningly and held up her chemise and he knew what she was asking.

_Do I want to make love tonight? _he asked himself silently and decided the answer was yes.

He wanted to lose himself for awhile in the pleasing activities that would distract him from thoughts of the following day.

Without a word he took the chemise from her and laid it aside then set his lips to hers, kissing her thoroughly, feeling his body's autonomic response to the activity. Kissing Molly passionately never failed to turn him on. Her hands reached for the fastening of his trousers and he allowed her to carefully pull them down, below his hips, followed by his boxers, after which he removed them the rest of the way. She was still in her bra and knickers and he subsequently made short work of them, then lifted her into his arms to take her to the bed.

He concentrated on every touch, every caress, the scent of her skin and the softness of it, allowing sensation to command his senses and dictate his movements, even as he responded to every sound and sigh of pleasure Molly made. She too feathered his skin lightly with her fingers, leaving trails of wildfire that made his breath hitch, heightening sensations also with her lips and mouth. There was nothing in the world but her. Together they spoke the language of love, taking their time, soaring to the peaks of ecstasy until, finally satiated, Sherlock held his wife in his arms and slept, this time untroubled by dreams or nightmares.

* * *

**Author's note: **Well, another difficult chapter laid to rest. I tried to research funeral home practices in England and found very little information but tried to make the experience as real as possible from the limited information I found combined with our family's own experiences of several months ago.

The comment Christina made about her grandfather's lips was borrowed from a comment by one of my daughters. It is indeed a lack of oxygen that causes a bluish cast to the lips of someone with COPD and it was something we had become used to seeing with my father-in-law.

This was a difficult chapter for me to write when the events following my father-in-law's passing were still very fresh in my mind. I hope you don't find it too traumatic. I wrote the chapter and have waited until now to revisit it, 5 months after my father-in-law's passing and I still shed a few tears when I read what I had written.

I know this story doesn't have many readers. I can only hope that as it stays on the site, over time people will read it and perhaps find the peace that passes all understanding when they know a loved one has passed from this life to eternal glory in the presence of Jesus. I would hope and pray that all of my readers understand that path and peace as well.


	13. A Celebration of Life

Molly awakened to find herself alone in bed. She raised herself up slightly to see that Sherlock was standing at the window, looking outside through a gap he had made in the curtains. He hadn't bothered to put on his boxers nor the dressing gown she had packed for him, and she thought he must be cold.

She got out of bed quietly and shivered slightly. It was early, barely past dawn she could tell, and definitely a little chilly. She went to the wardrobe and took out the dressing gowns, putting on her own, then walked towards Sherlock.

He didn't move or say anything until she reached to place his dressing gown over his shoulders and put her arms around him from behind. "Did you have trouble sleeping? More bad dreams?" She asked softly, pressing her cheek against his back, now covered by the dressing gown.

She released him as he turned finally, sliding his arms into his dressing gown then placing them about her waist. "Actually I slept well," he responded, "until I woke up and wasn't able to return to it. Looks like it's going to be a beautiful day for the funeral." He kissed the top of her head. "Thanks for the dressing gown."

Her hands went to his shoulders and she looked up at him. "I figured you might be a little cold, standing there naked that way, not that I didn't enjoy the sight," she said in a teasing tone. She was glad he had said he slept well. She had been worried he might once again be plagued by unpleasant dreams. She herself had also slept well, but then again, she always did when Sherlock was in bed beside her. Usually, her only times of insomnia were when he was away from her overnight on a case. It was rare that he took cases these days that took him away from her for more than that, but even an overnight absence was enough to disrupt her sleep pattern.

Sherlock gave her a rueful smile. "To be honest, I wasn't even thinking about that when I got out of bed. I was just contemplating the day ahead. I was also thinking it is a shame my sister can't be here, but Mycroft did assure me everything is in place to send her a live feed of the service, so that is the best we can do."

"I'm glad to hear that. At least she can be there in a way and see it." Molly paused, then squeezed his shoulders. "Are you sure you'll be up to reading out the poem Victoria wrote? If not, I can do it."

His hands tightened slightly around her waist. "Thanks for offering, love, but I'll manage. I suppose we should take our showers and head downstairs for breakfast, not that I'll be able to eat anything. If I did, I'd probably be sick."

Molly pursed her lips. "I won't force you to eat this morning, honey, I know what it is like to have that knot in your stomach." She did too. She still remembered how she had felt on the day of her father's funeral, gosh had it really been over 29 years ago? That had been one of the saddest days of her life.

As if reading her mind, Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I keep forgetting that you've been through this yourself. I'm sure it's bringing up sad memories for you as well."

Molly nodded, feeling the prick of tears in her eyes which she blinked away. She didn't want to get emotional about that right now. "It is," she admitted honestly, "but today is all about you, and me supporting you through it, not to mention the rest of the family."

Sherlock blew out a long breath. "I'm so grateful you're here with me, Molly. I don't think I could get through it if I didn't have you."

"Of course you would. Remember, we have God on our side as well. That faith can get you through the most difficult times."

"But you're the reason I became a Christian in the first place," Sherlock pointed out. "If I didn't have you, I most likely wouldn't have any faith either. I'd still be an atheist."

Molly looked at him seriously. "I'm not sure that's true. I kind of feel like God would have found a way to reveal Himself to you somehow, but it doesn't really matter at this point. What does matter is that you _are _a Christian and we _are _together. We know where your dad is and that knowledge is going to help us both get through today as well."

"True enough." He released his hold on Molly and she did the same.

To save time they showered together. Shared showers had a habit of turning into something more sensual but not on this occasion. They merely took turns with the flannel and washed one another's backs. Then they dressed for the day, Sherlock in a dark grey suit with navy shirt, Molly in a navy blue dress that almost matched his shirt. Molly reflected it was just as well she had bought the dress quite recently before they had gone out to dinner to celebrate their tenth wedding anniversary. It was simple, yet elegant, and the v-neck of the dress meant that her anniversary gift, the journey necklace, was clearly visible.

Unsurprisingly, they were the first to come downstairs. It was about half past six, so still very early. Molly put the kettle on for Sherlock and herself and within minutes they were having a quiet cup of coffee together.

She decided to have a couple slices of toast, knowing it would be a long day. Unlike Sherlock, skipping meals usually had an adverse effect on Molly, where she would end up feeling faint as a result. She looked at Sherlock questioningly, just in case he had changed his mind about eating, but his slight shake of the head indicated he hadn't.

As Molly ate her toast, Sherlock went upstairs. She wondered what he was doing until he reappeared holding his Bible and current edition of the _Our Daily Bread_ devotional.

He sat next to Molly once again. "Seeing as it is so early, I thought we could catch up on our reading."

Molly smiled at him. "Oh yes, we are a little behind, aren't we?" Whenever they fell behind with their reading, which of course did happen, they always tried to catch up. By now they had also been through the Bible in one year several times by following the suggested reading guide in the little booklet.

Sherlock took his reading glasses from his pocket and put them on, then opened the devotional and his Bible to the correct places and read out loud as Molly continued to eat. Of course she was finished well before he was done reading but she did not offer to take over. As often as possible she encouraged Sherlock to do the reading so she could enjoy listening to the rumble of his deep baritone. He would be very good at doing an audio version of the Bible. _Of course, _she thought, as she had done on many occasions with an inward smile, _it would have to be the King James version. _Sherlock definitely had a propensity towards more formal speech even in everyday life and she could imagine him reading all the old-time English text. She fancied that if he did so, there would be a lot of people who would want to read the Bible just to have the opportunity to hear his voice.

Sherlock was just finishing the reading for the day when his mother walked slowly into the kitchen, using her cane for support as usual. He paused mid-sentence and asked, "Good morning, Mummy. How are you feeling today?"

Molly remembered that her mother-in-law had retired early the previous evening due to a headache. "Much better, thank you, dear," she replied, moving slowly with her cane and dropping a kiss to the top of his head before doing likewise to Molly. "You two are up early," she commented. "Victoria and Christina are still asleep. I didn't think it was necessary to wake them just yet." It was only a little past seven o'clock.

"We had a few hours sleep," answered Sherlock. "Then we decided we would do a catch-up on our reading while everything was still quiet. We were just about finished."

Violet Holmes sat down on his other side. "Well then, don't mind me. I must admit that my own reading has been rather lacking as of late. I suppose really at a time like this we should be turning to the Bible even more, but it is difficult without your father here. We used to read together every day."

Molly offered her mother-in-law a small smile. "That's what Sherlock and I try to do as well." She looked at him. "Why don't you finish reading and then I'l say a prayer for us for today?"

Sherlock did so and then Molly closed her eyes as did Sherlock and his mother as she prayed, "Father, you know this is going to be a difficult day for us. I pray that you will give us strength to get through it and the comfort that only you can provide in knowing that today we are not really saying goodbye, but just saying 'see you later'. We thank you for all the blessings you have given us and for the assurance we have as Christians in knowing that we will indeed see my beloved father-in-law again. May you fill our hearts with your peace. Amen."

Sherlock and his mother repeated the amen and the three of them opened their eyes.

There were tears in Violet Holmes's eyes as she said, "Thank you for that, my daughter. You are such a blessing to this family."

Molly felt her own eyes blur with tears at her mother-in-law's compliment, and Sherlock reached over to squeeze her hand. "I feel blessed to be a part of it as well," she responded.

Sherlock rose and picked up the Bible and devotional, then handed his reading glasses to Molly. "Would you hold on to these for me, love?" he asked. "You know how I am, and I would most likely end up forgetting to bring them to the church. I will be needing them to read the poem."

"Poem? What poem?" questioned his mother, her brow furrowed.

"Sherlock is going to read a poem that Victoria wrote about her grandpa," explained Molly, getting to her feet as well. She would have to put the reading glasses into her handbag for church right away or she might set them down and forget them herself.

"She wrote a poem about her grandpa? The dear, sweet child!" exclaimed Mrs. Holmes.

"Indeed she did, and she even talks about her faith in it," said Sherlock. Molly smiled at the proud tone of his voice.

"Oh, I can't wait to hear it," responded his mother, smiling. Molly was pleased to see that her mother-in-law's expression had brightened at the thought. Just before Sherlock and Molly left the kitchen, his mother said, "Molly, you need to get Sherlock a chain for his glasses. It really did the trick for William. He was always losing them, but after he got a chain, he knew where they were at all times."

Sherlock snorted at that and Molly couldn't help giggling as she looked back at her mother-in-law from the doorway. "I've tried, Mummy. He refuses to listen, so I suppose he will just have to deal with having multiple pairs all over the house so there is always one pair around even if others are misplaced."

Sherlock smirked and took her hand, and they went back upstairs to their bedroom to finish getting ready. Sherlock still had to put on one of those ties he so detested in everyday life and avoided at all costs, while Molly needed to do her hair and makeup.

She put Sherlock's reading glasses into a pocket of her handbag and saw him carefully slipping the folded paper on which Victoria's poem was printed, into his trouser pocket.

Molly helped Sherlock put on his tie, thinking he really did look extremely handsome in a tie, even though the silver cross necklace he always wore was no longer visible as it usually was when he wore his shirts open at the neck. That necklace had been a gift from her to commemorate his two year anniversary of becoming a Christian and he rarely took it off.

After this was done, Sherlock said he would get their children up so that Molly could finish doing her hair and putting on makeup. Molly had always been a minimalist when it came to makeup, a little lipstick and mascara were often the only concessions she made to vanity, but on this occasion she wanted to look especially nice, even though Sherlock had told her on many occasions she looked just as beautiful to him when she wasn't wearing any makeup at all. She appreciated that, and he always made her feel beautiful, but even so, there would be a lot of people around who would be greeting them and offering condolences, and a bit of make-up would give her an extra measure of confidence to face the day.

By the time Molly returned downstairs, her hair nearly brushed and twisted into a side braid, and wearing just the right amount of makeup, the kitchen was full of Holmeses and Watsons.

Apparently Mark had taken it upon himself to help get his older cousins organised with food and eat with them at the dining table in the other room as Sherlock did the same with the boys. That left the Watsons room to eat in the kitchen with Mycroft and Elizabeth. The only person absent from this rather large assemblage of people was Sherlock's mother, and Molly assumed she had disappeared into the small sitting room for some solitude.

Molly sat quietly at the table with her family and observed them as they ate. The boys were quite cheerful, bickering once in a while about certain things. At least they weren't dwelling on what lay ahead. Victoria was definitely more pensive. Christina, as usual, was too busy concentrating on her food to do much else.

After breakfast was finished and all the dishes were cleared away, Molly asked her daughters if they would like their hair braided. She was a little peeved when they both said yes but that they wanted their father to do it instead. Of course, she knew she shouldn't feel that way. She herself enjoyed it when Sherlock braided her hair, but it did sometimes rankle that the girls so obviously preferred the way Sherlock braided their hair. Apparently he was more gentle with the weaving process, Victoria had told her. Molly thought that was undoubtedly true. She tended to braid fairly quickly while Sherlock took his time.

With that task assigned to Sherlock, Molly instead took care of seeing that the twins' hair was neat and orderly, rather than the unruly mops which often happened. She wasn't going to try and do anything drastic like slicking back their hair, but just wanted those curls to look slightly less ruffled. The boys had a tendency to follow their father's lead when it came to finger-combing rather than using a comb.

Mycroft had arranged for the limo to be there at nine-thirty so everyone was ready well in advance. The Watsons would be taking their car and then heading back to London after the wake, but the family would remain one more night at the house.

Shortly before the limo was due to arrive, Sherlock spoke quietly to Molly. "Mycroft told me he is going to look into finding Mummy a place to live in London as soon as possible. There are some retirement facilities that have apartments for sale. Mummy has also agreed for Mycroft to look into this house being listed as an AirBnB to provide at least some income throughout the year. We just need to tell him first what dates to reserve for us over the summer. He has already spoken to Donna and she said she would be happy to continue to act as housekeeper to make sure things are ready for any guests who may book the house for a holiday."

Molly looked thoughtful. "I guess we will have to figure things out for future visits once we are back home and have time to discuss it. It's a wonderful idea that means the house won't need to be sold."

Sherlock's lips titled upwards. "My brother does have some redeeming qualities at times."

Molly tucked her arm through his and they went in search of their children.

They arrived at the rather large, imposing church shortly before ten o'clock. Molly always felt slightly intimidated by the size of it which was much larger than her own church, but it was a magnificent structure which had stood for hundreds of years, and she had always felt the presence of God there on the few occasions she had attended in the past during family visits.

Reverend Richard Brown (or Father Brown as Sherlock teasingly referred to him in private, thanks to that television show by the same name) was standing at the front door of the church, and Molly suspected the vicar had been alerted to their impending arrival by Mycroft. He greeted the family and the Watsons and ushered them inside temporarily. They would return outside before other people arrived.

As soon as they set foot into the interior of the church building, Molly could hear the sound of a glorious soprano voice filling the air, accompanied by the music from a pipe organ. Apparently Amalie Baumgartner was there and practising with Eric, the church organist, for the funeral service.

"Wow, that lady has a really good voice," whispered Victoria to Molly as they passed through the foyer and entered the nave.

There were orders of service on a table near the back, ready to be passed out, and Molly picked up several and handed them to Noah, instructing him to put them in the first two pews for them.

She looked at Sherlock who was standing behind her with Scott. "You should ask Reverend Brown about when to read the poem," she suggested to him and he nodded, then walked back towards the vicar who was talking with Violet Holmes. Mycroft, Elizabeth and Mark were also still in the foyer area.

Noah returned, having completed his task. "Thank you, darling." Molly remained at the rear of the church with the children and listened as the soprano continued practising.

At the end of the piece, Ms. Baumgartner walked up the aisle to the family. By this time, the rest of the family and the vicar were also gathered together.

Mycroft intruded everyone to the soprano and thanked her for her willingness to come on short notice, to which she responded that she was glad she had been able to fit it into her schedule. Molly saw Mycroft discreetly hand her an envelope, presumably with the agreed payment for her services. She then left with the vicar to get some water.

Sherlock moved to stand beside Molly. "I'm going to read Victoria's poem right after Father-" at Molly's eye-roll he amended it to "-Reverend Brown introduces the service."

She nodded. "That sounds good. I saw in the order of service that Ms. Baumgartner will be singing Fauré's Pie Jesu right after the readings." She looked up at him searchingly. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm alright at the moment. Not quite sure how I will be when the coffin arrives though," he admitted.

She squeezed his hand. "Just let me know if you don't feel up to reading."

Two men arrived minutes later and Molly realised they were the men hired by Mycroft to live-stream the funeral service for Eurus. They set up their equipment discreetly at the rear of the church.

The Watson family, who had remained behind at the house for a little longer after the departure of the others, so they could get their things together for the return journey to London, arrived shortly afterwards as well.

By the time people began to arrive at ten-thirty, the Holmes family had positioned themselves back outside the front of the church with the vicar to greet people as they arrived. Molly was proud that the children, who had been told they must be on their best behaviour, did as they were told. Well, they did fidget a little, but really, they behaved very well.

As people entered and first offered their condolences to Violet Holmes, then the rest of the family, Molly recognised a few of them from previous visits. Several of those who Molly had seen before mentioned how much the children had grown. Others remarked on how William Holmes had spoken so highly of his family. Molly could feel the warmth and sympathy of these kind people and found herself trying yet again to blink away her tears. She noticed some older people, who had obviously been close friends of the elder Holmeses, were also teary-eyed as was Violet herself. Victoria was struggling to keep herself from crying, Molly also noted, while Christina was shuffling from one foot to the other with a pinched expression on her face. The twins unsuccessfully tried to emulate the other Holmes men who had their hands clasped stoically behind their backs when they were not shaking hands with the people who were arriving, but failed, unsurprisingly, and Molly soon found herself holding both of them by the hand.

The procession of mourners seemed to go on and on. William Holmes had undoubtedly been well loved by his church family.

A few minutes before the service was due to start, as the hearse arrived, Molly heard John tell Sherlock he and his family were going to go inside to the third pew. As Molly knew, Mycroft had arranged for the first three pews to be reserved for the family and the Watsons.

Several men from the church had lingered outside, apparently having been the ones asked to be pallbearers in the absence of extended family to do so. Molly recognised a couple of them from previous visits to the church. The chosen pallbearers went to the hearse and picked up the coffin of William Holmes which would be placed on a stand at the front of the church. The flowers from the previous day were now resting on top of the coffin. Molly felt the tears welling up once again and this time she saw Sherlock's lips tighten and knew he was trying to exert control over his own emotions.

Reverend Brown walked ahead of the men carrying the coffin as the Holmes family fell in behind, Violet Holmes first, followed by Mycroft, Elizabeth and Mark, then Sherlock, Molly and their children.

Once the coffin had been placed on the stand and the Holmeses were seated in the first two pews, the funeral service began.

Reverend Brown began the service with a welcome and then he said, "Today we are gathered to celebrate the life of William Holmes, who has gone on to glory and is now at home with the Lord." He paused and looked over at Sherlock, then continued. "To begin, I will ask William's son, Sherlock, to come to the front and share something with all of us."

Molly rummaged in her handbag and retrieved Sherlock's reading glasses, handing them to him just before he rose from his seat next to the aisle and walked forward to the lectern. She looked over at Victoria who was sitting at the other end of the pew, hands folded in her lap. Silent tears ran down her face and Molly saw Christina take her sister's hand.

Sherlock cleared his throat and Molly looked back at him as he began to speak.

"Today, as we remember my father, I wanted to share a poem with you that was written by my daughter, Victoria. I hope you will be as touched by her words as I was when she showed it to me."

He cleared his throat again and Molly could see his hand trembling slightly as he put on his reading glasses and raised the sheet of paper with the poem. His voice, however, was perfectly calm and steady as he began to read. He read about his daughter's heartbreak at losing her grandfather, and he read about her simple faith that they would again meet again one day. The words were eloquent, mature beyond what one would expect from one so young, and Molly felt a sense of pride in her daughter's heartfelt words.

Halfway through the reading of the poem, Molly heard Scott give a huge sob and rest his head against her. She put her arm around him and kissed the top of his curly head, feeling her own tears spill over. Each of the other Holmes children was also expressing sorrow in the form of tears, and Molly could see her mother-in-law's frame in front of her shaking slightly as she was also obviously overcome with emotion. Mark, who was beside his grandmother, put an arm around her shoulders.

By the time Sherlock's voice had died away, Molly could hear sniffles and the sounds of noses being blown as other friends of William Holmes were overcome with emotion as well.

Then Molly watched as her husband carefully took off his reading glasses and replace the paper into his pocket, then walk slowly towards her to take his seat once again. Her one arm was still round Scott whose body was still heaving as he sobbed, not loudly, but definitely audibly.

And as Sherlock sat, she took his hand and he collapsed back into the pew as if he were a balloon deflating, and his held-in tears began to fall.

* * *

**Author's note:** Initially this chapter contained an actual poem written by my youngest daughter that she wrote for her grandfather. However, she did not feel comfortable in seeing it published here so I had to respect her wishes and omit it. Suffice to say though, I was just as proud of her as Molly was of Victoria. If you wish to read the poem, please request it in your review. My daughter is okay with people reading it privately.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and the way I tried to incorporate the grief as well as the comfort in celebrating the life of William Holmes. I researched funeral practices in England as much as I could online but again, found it difficult to find much, so had to just use a bit of creative licence mixed with personal experience. I apologize for any inconsistencies.

Oh, and raise your hand if you'd like to hear an audio version of the KJV Bible as read by Benedict Cumberbatch in his Sherlock voice. I'd be off to buy that one but I fear I might get a little distracted from the actual text and just enjoy the sound of his voice! I suppose that would kind of defeat the purpose of reading the Bible.


	14. A Time for Healing and Some Laughter

**Special note: ** Thank you guest reviewer for your review. As I cannot answer guests personally I will keep this note up for a short time so you can see it.

Baumgartner was not intended to be a Jewish name per se, was just one I came up with due to the German nature of the singer. Translated into English it means tree gardener. I'd love to see more guest reviews and thank you in advance for anyone who takes the time to review, guest or not.

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Sherlock didn't know how he had managed to hold it together through the reading of Victoria's poem.

As he had continued to read, he had seen various faces, most notably his mother's, crumple as they dissolved into grief and then his son had led out a huge sob. People in the church had been moved by the words and other people had begun to sniffle. He had been determined though to do justice to the poem, to express the wonderful words of hope penned by his daughter. His eyes had continued to stray though as well to the coffin ahead of him, and when he had read out Victoria's words about his father's blue eyes it had brought back memories and the knowledge that he would never again see that soft, kindly gaze meeting his own.

It was only as he walked back to his seat that he allowed his self-control to slip, and the comforting touch of Molly's hand seemed to give him permission to allow himself the release of the tears he had been holding back.

Sherlock could see his mother's shoulders shaking and that Mark had placed an arm around her.

Molly's head turned to press a kiss to his shoulder and he looked at her, observing the grief etched on her own face, as tears ran in rivulets down it, despite the fact that she was trying to offer him some measure of comfort. He barely registered that the readings had begun as Molly mouthed silently, "I love you" and he did the same.

He focussed his blurred vision back towards Reverend Brown and felt Molly's head lean against his shoulder. He didn't really register the words that were being said, too caught up in his own sorrow, but he was roused from it when the readings had ended and the exquisite sound of Amalie Baumgartner's voice filled the church as she sang the _Pie Jesu_. Her tone, he thought, was magnificent, with a controlled vibrato that gave the piece a purity of sound. He found himself relaxing. He knew Molly had a keen appreciation for music, having a lovely singing voice herself, and he had the feeling they would be discussing the singer and her beautiful performance afterwards.

After the soprano finished singing, there was a hushed silence within the church for several moments. Sherlock was sure that if it had not been a funeral, the woman would have received hearty applause for her efforts.

Once she took her seat, Reverend Brown came up to give the message.

"Thank you, Ms. Baumgartner," the vicar began. "Your voice is just as I imagine voices will sound in heaven when lifted in praise to our Lord."

Sherlock saw a few heads nodding at that.

"Dear friends, today is a difficult one for those of us who have known and loved William Holmes. In our finite minds, we cannot comprehend the glory and mystery of what occurs at the moment of death when a person leaves their mortal body to be welcomed into heaven. However, we have the assurance of God that although he is now absent from the body here, his spirit is with the Lord."

There were some general murmurs of agreement from the congregation and Sherlock thought the vicar had certainly made an excellent opening statement. It was true that despite the lack of exact knowledge of what had happened at the moment of his father's death, he believed in that assurance wholeheartedly.

Father - _Reverend_, Sherlock reminded himself, Brown continued.

"I have been privileged to know William Holmes and his family for many years. I can say that without a doubt he was exceptionally proud of each and every member of his family. Every time we talked, he would have something to say about one or other of his children or grandchildren, mentioning this accomplishment or that. He lived for his family as indeed he lived for his beloved Violet, his loving wife and companion for over sixty years."

Once again Sherlock's eyes blurred with tears at the heartfelt words of the vicar. The man was a wonderful speaker, putting together not only a message of comfort for the family but also one of hope.

Sherlock took a hanky out of his pocket and wiped his eyes at the conclusion of the message. He had heard many people, including Molly and the children sniffling and blowing their noses. There was also some discreet nose-blowing from amongst the other congregants.

Prayers were said and the hymn was announced. Sherlock rose with everyone else and his voice joined in as he sang the precious words of _The Old Rugged Cross._ His voice was not perhaps as confident as usual, but he managed it.

Just before the end of the service, Reverend Brown said the words of committal for the body of William Holmes as the coffin was too be transported directly to the cemetery for burial while the family and friends remained for the wake. Sherlock was rather glad that he would not have to stand at the graveside to watch his father's coffin be lowered into the ground. His head was already starting to ache from the tears he had shed and he thought he should see if Molly might have some Panadol.

The organ music began to play and Sherlock waited for his mother, brother and family to head back up the aisle, then he exited the pew as well and waited for his family to walk into the aisle before joining them.

They headed immediately out of the church and then to the hall that adjoined it.

"Do you have some Panadol?" he asked Molly who had ushered the children ahead of them.

She gave him a wry smile. "Of course. I had a feeling we would all be needing it. Crying tends to bring on headaches." Her own eyes had traces of redness around them and he was certain his own did too. "I'll give you a couple when we get to our table and get some water for you so you'll have something to wash them down with." She linked arms with him as they moved towards the entrance to the hall and continued. "Wasn't Amalie Baumgartner wonderful? Her voice had such a pure sound to it."

Sherlock smiled at her. "I knew you'd say that. I agree that she was excellent. I'm glad Mycroft was able to procure her services."

They followed the rest of the family into the hall and towards two large tables that had been set up for them to sit together, with room for the Watsons as well. Sherlock was sure that Mycroft had arranged this, knowing that the Watson family would be unfamiliar with anyone else who would be attending. It had been a very thoughtful gesture. Sherlock turned around and saw that there was a steady stream of people now entering the hall, with his friend and family at the front.

He gestured to John to come to the tables that had been set up for them, and everyone found a place to sit. Sherlock looked over at the activity at the other side of the hall where the food was being set up by several women of the church, buffet style.

Sherlock and Molly were sitting together with the twins on either side. Victoria and Christina had situated themselves with their friends.

"I'm going to go and get us some water," Molly said to Sherlock, indicating the table where drinks had been set up - coffee, tea, cordial and water. "Come on, boys," she told their sons, "let's go and get a drink." She then looked to where Christina and Adam were sitting. "Christina, Adam, do you want to come up with me to get a drink?"

"Yes Mummy," responded Christina, immediately rising and pulling Adam up with her. "C'mon Adam," she told him imperiously and Sherlock had to suppress a grin at the way Adam meekly complied.

Sherlock watched as Molly and the twins got back up and headed towards the drinks table. John, who was sitting across from him, caught his eye. "Really good service, mate. That Reverend Brown is a great speaker, and that singer was amazing."

Kayla, who was seated next to him with Johannah on her lap, added, "It really was lovely. I don't think I've ever felt the presence of God more fully at a funeral then this one, and the poem Victoria wrote was so beautiful and appropriate." She looked down the table towards Sherlock's oldest daughter who was busy in conversation with Rosie.

Hearing her name, Victoria looked up. "Were you saying something to me, Auntie Kayla?" she asked.

Kayla smiled. "I was telling your daddy how beautiful that poem was you wrote for your grandpa."

Sherlock could see his daughter flush at the compliment and look shy, and he thought she looked very much as Molly always did when she was embarrassed. "Thank you."

John rose then and went to get drinks for Kayla and himself, and his daughter and Victoria went with him. "I want a drink too," said Johannah, turning her head towards her mother.

"You can have some of mine when Daddy brings it," responded Kayla.

Sherlock saw Mycroft and Mark also rise from the table after that to get drinks as well.

When Molly returned to the table, she set down a glass of water in front of Sherlock and set down her own glass in front of her. She bent and picked up her handbag from the floor and searched for, then extracted, a small bottle of Panadol. She took out two tablets for Sherlock and handed them to him, then took another two for herself.

"Thanks, sweetheart," he said, putting the tablets in his mouth and taking a large swallow of water.

The rest of the family had just returned to the table when Reverend Brown called everyone to attention. By this time the hall was filled with people. He pronounced a blessing on the food and then indicated that the Holmes family should go first to get their food.

Mark assisted his grandmother to the food tables first as once again the family fell in behind. Sherlock and Molly both juggled plates for themselves and one of the boys. Ten minutes later the family was seated once again and eating. Having not eaten breakfast, Sherlock found he was actually hungry and was able to do full justice to the serving on his plate.

After that came the time for what Mycroft would call "mingling". This was something Sherlock had not been looking forward to. Making small talk with near strangers had never been one of his fortés. It was one thing to talk publicly about a case and answer questions, quite another to speak with people he hardly knew, but he forced himself to make the rounds, as it were. He thanked people for coming, listened to anecdotes about his father, and actually some of them were quite cheering, bringing a smile to his lips.

At one point he noticed his mother lead a woman in her twenties towards Mark and had the feeling Violet Holmes was doing a little matchmaking for her single grandson.

He listened as she introduced Mark to Nina who was a journalist with the Brighton newspaper, _The Argus_. Judging by the animated conversation that followed between the two younger adults, Sherlock had a feeling that his mother might be successful with her efforts. Time would tell.

By two o'clock, the wake was nearing its end. The remaining food was being put into containers for the family to take home as leftovers.

John approached Sherlock."We're going to head off home now," he said. "Take as long as you need and just let me know when you want to start looking at taking cases again. No hurry."

Sherlock embraced his best friend. "Thank you for coming, John. Your support has meant a great deal to me these past few days, and I want you to know how much it is appreciated," he told his friend sincerely.

John smiled. "That's what best friends are for, isn't it?" Sherlock was indeed grateful for the man who had put up with him through the early days of oblivious rudeness, who had helped shape him into a better person, even as Molly had done. He felt truly blessed to have a friend who was more like a brother than his own brother. There would always be a reserve and distance between Mycroft and himself, but with John he could be himself and they could also discuss matters of faith openly as well.

Kayla, who had been saying goodbye to Molly, also gave Sherlock a one-armed hug because she was holding Johannah. "I told Molly to let me know if there's anything you need, to just ask. In the meantime, you are in our prayers. I know this is still going to take some time for you to process and get through, but we are here for you in any way you need."

"Thank you Kayla," responded Sherlock, bending to kiss Johannah's forehead. He groaned when she followed the same pattern as every female in his life and tugged on a curl. "Bye, Unca Sherlock."

Hugs between the families ensued and the Watsons departed. By this time, most of the other mourners had also left. Reverend Brown was still there. Sherlock had not had the opportunity to speak with him earlier so he walked over to the vicar.

"Thank you for your message during the service today," he told the older man. "It was very uplifting and I know my father is in a better place."

"He is indeed," responded the vicar, resting a hand lightly on Sherlock's arm. "As I said during the service, your father was so proud of all of you. He will be missed by our congregation. He was a faithful servant of our Lord and he was so pleased that you share that faith with him, even as he indicated to me his hopes that your brother might one day also come to faith. Your father also told me you have ministered to your sister as well in that regard and that she has a knowledge of God as well."

"My sister is a very complicated woman, as I expect you know. She doesn't see things in quite the way most of us do, but I do believe she understands and believes also, in her own way."

Reverend Brown nodded. "Well, carry on as you have been doing. You are a good witness for your faith."

"I just hope I continue to act in a manner that would make my dad proud," Sherlock said.

"I'm sure you will," responded the vicar with a warm smile. The men shook hands and Sherlock returned to the table to help Molly get the children ready to leave.

Half an hour later, the Holmeses were back at the house, the men carrying various containers of food - more than enough for dinner.

Molly touched Sherlock's arm once they had taken the food to the kitchen. "I'm going to go upstairs for a while and have a rest. Usually the headache tablets work but this time I think I need to just have a bit of a sleep. How are you doing?"

Sherlock suddenly realised his own headache was completely gone. "Fine, actually. The Panadol worked for me. Go have your rest, love. I'll make sure the children are entertained." His lips tilted upwards. "I had planned on asking Mark for a game of pool, but I'll leave that for a time when you are not directly above the games room."

Molly's lips pursed. "No, don't do that. You should spend some more time with your nephew. I'll go to your old room to sleep but first I'll go to our room and get changed."

Sherlock suddenly realised he was still wearing a tie. "I'll join you. I need to take off this tie and my suit jacket as well."

Sherlock's fingers loosened his tie as they went upstairs to the room. He unzipped Molly's dress for her, took off his tie and undid the top button of his shirt as usual, then removed his suit jacket. That definitely felt a lot more comfortable.

He waited for Molly to change into a casual blouse and shorts, noting that she did look a little pale. He hoped she would feel better after her rest.

They headed back downstairs together and Sherlock saw that the twins had begun a game of draughts.

They walked back into the front living area so Molly could take the other set of stairs. "If I'm not back downstairs by dinner time, just come up and get me," she told him.

He bent and pressed his lips to hers briefly, then said, "All right then. Sleep well, sweetheart." He watched her for a moment and then went in search of his daughters to make sure they were sufficiently occupied.

Victoria was in the sitting room with her grandmother. When Sherlock entered the room, his daughter held up a crochet hook to him and said, "Grandma is going to teach me how to crochet, Daddy. She says I'm old enough to learn now." She gave him a proud smile.

"That sounds lovely, princess. Where is your sister?"

"Christy went upstairs to read more of _The Adventures of the Wishing Chair_, said Victoria. Sherlock recalled that Christina had been working her way through Molly's collection of Enid Blyton books and had recently finished _The Magic Faraway Tree_ series. Victoria suddenly frowned slightly. "Where did Mummy go?"

"Your mother has a headache and went upstairs for a rest before dinner," Sherlock explained.

"Poor Mummy," his daughter remarked. "I hope she feels better. I don't like headaches. I had one earlier but she gave me a tablet and I'm all better now."

"That's good to hear." He walked over to his mother and bent to kiss her wrinkled cheek. "I haven't spoken to you much today, Mummy. How are you feeling?"

"Better than I expected, actually," she answered. "I'm quite surprised I don't have a headache myself. Elizabeth also went upstairs for a rest, and Mycroft as usual said he needed to do some work." She shook her head. "That son of mine is such a workaholic. At least you had the good sense to reduce your workload when you became a husband and father."

"I think that is his way of coping with things," said Sherlock thoughtfully. "Back in the old days for me, I would do the same, to lose myself in work as a distraction from other things."

"I suppose so," his mother said with a sigh. Then she brightened slightly. "Everything went off very well today, didn't it?"

"It did indeed," agreed Sherlock. "I'll leave you and Victoria to it. I'm going to see if Mark would like to have a game of pool with me."

"That sounds very nice, dear. Have fun."

He went in search of Mark and finally found him outside on the terrace with his laptop open before him. He had passed the boys on the way, noting that they were intent on their game.

"Mark, can you tear yourself away from your laptop for long enough to have a game of pool with me?"

Mark eyed him warily. "You aren't going to spoil the game for me like you did with Molly, are you? And you aren't going to go on about all the differences between English and American pool tables either, right?"

Sherlock huffed and took the seat beside his nephew. "I shall endeavour to keep my comments to myself." Then he added, with a smirk, "However, I might just ask what your intentions are towards that lovely young woman I saw you with earlier - Nina, I think her name was?" He raised an enquiring brow.

He was intrigued to see the flush that crept up his nephew's face.

"You noticed that, huh?"

Sherlock crossed his arms casually in front of himself. "I may be fifty, but I do not think my powers of observation have failed me yet. I saw my mother introduce her to you and I observed that you spent a considerable amount of time in conversation with her."

Mark closed the lid of his laptop. "She was very interesting to talk to. She's also very well read and in touch with the current political climate. She was very interested to hear that I go overseas at times on diplomatic missions."

Sherlock smiled at his nephew. "I assume you exchanged telephone numbers?"

Mark's fingers tapped on the closed lid of his laptop screen. "Yes, we did, as a matter of fact. She comes up to London quite regularly as well for her job, and I suggested next time she comes that we get together for dinner."

Sherlock leaned back in his chair and decided to tease his nephew a little. "Oh, I see romance in the air."

Mark rolled his eyes. "You can hardly talk, Uncle Sherlock. Watching you and Molly is still like watching some kind of romantic Hallmark film."

Sherlock scowled at that. "Please don't compare the real love Molly and I share to that romantic fustian displayed in those films."

Mark chortled with laughter at that. "Did you really say the word '_fustian_'? Oh my God, Uncle Sherlock, you really are some kind of vintage Victorian hero, just as Molly tells me you are. Have you been reading her Barbara Cartland novels again?"

Sherlock glared. What secrets had Molly been divulging to his nephew? She and he needed to have a serious talk on what was appropriate and what was inappropriate information to divulge to his nephew. It was true, he had entertained himself at times in reading some of his wife's romantic novels, he seemed to have an affinity for the Victorian era in particular, but it was merely for fun. Anyhow, he happened to prefer speaking in a more educated, aristocratic manner than the usual fustian - rubbish? types of speech so often used these days.

"If my wife hadn't taken to her bed with a headache, I would be having stern words with her about divulging matters of a personal nature to my nephew," he said shortly, to which Mark guffawed with laughter.

"Uncle Sherlock, do you even hear yourself? 'Taken to her bed?' instead of 'gone for a lie down' with a headache? You truly are a relic from the Victorian era!"

Sherlock's expression darkened further, and then he suddenly realised the truth in Mark's words and laughed himself. He laughed so hard the tears ran down his face, for the first time in many days not prompted by grief. Mark joined in and when finally their laughter had subsided, he conceded, "Very well. You are correct. I mean - you're right, I _am _a relic. Perhaps I was born into the wrong century. At any rate, I do prefer to speak correctly whenever possible." His lips quirked. "Besides, I'm not the only one. Your father speaks the same way."

Mark nodded. "I suppose he does, at that. Well, It's one of the things I love about you, and I assure you, Molly has told me it's one of the things she loves about you as well."

_Perhaps I won't get cross with Molly after all, _thought Sherlock to himself. It meant a lot to know that his nephew and wife both loved the way he talked. "In that case," said Sherlock, standing, "Why don't you come and have that game of pool with your old relic of an uncle?"

Mark stood as well. "Gladly, old man."

As soon as they entered the games room, Noah looked up at Sherlock. "Daddy, what was so funny? I heard you laughing outside."

Sherlock went over to his son and ruffled his hair. "Your cousin was just reminding me that I have a rather odd way of speaking sometimes. Are you enjoying your game?" His gaze dropped to the game board where it seemed the boys had the same amount of pieces still in play.

Noah beamed. "Yes, Daddy. Scott even said he will play a game of chess with me afterwards if I go easy on him and help him."

"Yeah, Noah's smarter than me," said Scott mournfully.

Sherlock moved to put a hand on Scott's shoulder. "You are a very clever lad as well. May I remind you that you are both reading, which is something the majority of children in reception were not yet doing last year."

Scott seemed somewhat mollified at his father's words. "I guess so."

"Well now, you boys go back to playing draughts. Your cousin and I are going to have a game of pool."

The twins nodded and returned to their game. When Sherlock turned around he saw that Mark had already retrieved all the balls from the pockets and had set them up. "Do you want to break or should I?" enquired his nephew.

"Go ahead," said Sherlock, going around the table to pick up his own pool cue.

He was quite impressed with his nephew's skill, only winning in the end with one ball to spare. "You play really well, Mark," he told his nephew who was standing on the other side of the table.

Mark smirked, "I have a confession to make, Uncle Sherlock. A couple mates and I go out every month to a pool hall for a few games."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Well, perhaps you'd like to invite your old uncle along sometime to play as well?" he suggested. "I do enjoy a good game of pool and I'd much rather partner you than John whose playing is decidedly inferior to mine, not that he'd have time to go to a pool hall anyway."

Mark blinked at him, looking slightly surprised. "Are you sure Molly would allow you out of the house at night?"

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "_Allow_ me? Contrary to popular opinion, I am _not_ a kept man. If I want to go out for a few rounds of pool with my nephew, I shall do so."

Mark chuckled, "There you go again with that old English speech. My friends might laugh at you if you talk like that. We tend to be a little more relaxed in the way we talk and uh, their language can be a little colourful at times."

Sherlock shrugged. "I may not care to use profanity except in the case of inflicting severe pain upon myself due to a stubbed toe or the like," _or driving in heavy traffic on Christmas Eve when my wife is in labour,_ he thought, remembering how he had let a few colourful curses fly in his fear that she might deliver in their car, "but if others choose to do so, who am I to judge?" Then he sniffed. "Besides, I am the great Sherlock Holmes. They should be honoured I would deign to dignify them with my presence."

"Modest, aren't you?" countered Mark teasingly and Sherlock was tempted to tell him off for being rude to his elders but decided that would make him feel as if he really was old, so he let it slide and merely smirked.

Scott came up and tugged at Sherlock's arm. "I wanna go to a pool hall too."

Sherlock looked down at his youngest. "Maybe in a few years. You'll have to learn how to play the game properly first." He looked back over at Mark who was grinning. "Well, what do you say?"

Mark went around the pool table and stared Sherlock in the eye. Mark was actually a fraction taller than his uncle and Sherlock was not one to enjoy a height disadvantage. "Can you play without the need to correct everyone on their technique or acting like a prat because you happen to be famous? I mean, I'll admit, they know you're my uncle and all, and they might be a bit star-struck by that, but I don't want you showing off by making deductions about them."

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I shall restrain myself in that regard and only talk about my cases if they request it."

Mark held out his hand and Sherlock extended his own. "Then you have a deal, uncle mine. I'll call you next time we make arrangements to visit a pool hall and see if you are free."

Sherlock shook his nephew's hand and smiled. That "uncle mine" had sounded remarkably like the way Mycroft liked to say "brother mine".

Scott's voice alerted him to the fact that his son was still next to him. "Teach me how to play pool properly, Daddy," he demanded even as Noah, who had apparently been putting the playing pieces away, came up as well.

"Me too."

"And on that note," said Mark, "I think I'll leave you to it. Thanks for the game, Uncle Sherlock. Maybe next time I'll win."

"It is a possibility." Sherlock smiled.

He watched Mark pick up his laptop and return outside, then focussed his attention on his sons.

"Alright then boys, this is how you hold a pool cue properly," he began, and for the next hour, until it was time to think about getting Molly, who had not reappeared, up for dinner, he instructed his sons on how to use the pool cue to hit the white ball towards the desired ball. It was a little difficult. The twins could barely raise their arms high enough to hold a pool cue, but by the end of the hour, Sherlock was pleased with their progress. It really was rather a shame their house in London could not accommodate a pool table.

Christina entered the games room just as they were putting the cues away and the balls into the pockets. "I finished my book. When's dinner?" she asked. "I'm starving."

That was his Christina, Sherlock thought fondly. Always ready to eat. It was lucky she was so active or she would undoubtedly already weigh one hundred pounds. "Soon, I expect," he answered, looking at his watch and noting that it was already past five o'clock. "It will just be leftovers though, poppet," he added.

Christina looked around the games room. "I saw that Victoria is in the sitting room with grandma but where is Mummy?"

"Your mother had a headache so she went to have a rest in the boys' room. I'm going to get her up now."

"Good," responded Christina, apparently not even paying attention to the fact that her mother had not been feeling well. "I want her to get my dinner ready."

At that moment, Elizabeth appeared in the doorway with Mycroft. There was a slightly smug look on his brother's face and Elizabeth too seemed a little flushed. _Having a rest and doing work indeed, _thought Sherlock with an inner smile. Sherlock was rather confident in his deduction that Mycroft had been enjoying some afternoon comfort from his wife. Apparently Sherlock and Molly were not the only ones who liked to indulge in a little "love in the afternoon" when the children were not underfoot. That had been one of the biggest benefits to the boys starting reception the previous year and having the house to themselves for a few hours during the day when Sherlock was not busy with a case. Well, if Mycroft was still able to enjoy that kind of intimacy when he was fifty-seven with his wife who was ten years his senior, Sherlock was pretty sure he'd he'd be able to keep up his own level of intimacy with Molly for many years to come. That idea pleased him immensely.

Mycroft frowned at him. "What are you smirking about, brother mine?"

"Oh, nothing," responded Sherlock dismissively. "I'm going upstairs to wake my wife. She went to have a rest in my room because she had a headache. I hope she was successful." He gave Mycroft a meaningful look and he could have sworn both his brother and sister-in-law blushed.

He walked past them and headed upstairs, then opened the door to his old room. He looked over towards his old bed to see Molly lying on her side on top of the duvet, one hand curled beneath her cheek and the other arm in front of her. There was a flannel beside her head that had apparently fallen from its position on her forehead. Sherlock knew that Molly always used cool, wet flannels on the heads of family members when they had a particularly bothersome headache. She had obviously been downplaying the severity of hers and he sincerely hoped the rest had done her good.

Bending down, he stroked her cheek with his thumb and then kissed her forehead. "Time to get up for dinner, love."

She opened her eyes slowly, and he thought as he often did how beautiful those luminous brown eyes were when they gazed into his own. It was too bad they had to go down for dinner, he thought, as she sat up and smiled at him. He would have rather liked a little love in the afternoon of his own.

* * *

**Author's**** note:** So, I know this chapter began on a rather difficult note but I hope you enjoyed the transformation into something more amusing and light-hearted. With the closure afforded by the funeral and wake that followed it, I felt that it was time to show how life goes on.

I hope you found the vicar's sermon moving. A good deal of it is based upon what our own pastor said at my father-in-law's funeral in August.

I've often thought it interesting to listen to the way Sherlock talks in a more formal way and in fact, I adore that. It is one of the things that makes me think he'd be the perfect romantic hero (his total hotness notwithstanding).

Two chapters left in this story. Please critique my writing. I am aiming to move towards professional publishing of original material so would appreciate any constructive criticism or tips to improve my writing, or encouragement if you just enjoy it as is.


	15. Time for a New Normal

It took some time for Molly to get to sleep after she went into Sherlock's old room. The bed was still unmade and she made it carefully, then laid on top of it. Her head was actually aching considerably more than usual, most likely due to the excessive amount of tears she had shed earlier. At least Sherlock was feeling better, she thought.

She tossed and turned for a few minutes, trying to get comfortable and trying to ignore the pounding in her head. At last she decided it would be best to fetch a cold, wet flannel to place on her forehead. That usually helped to soothe her and make it easier for her to sleep.

Having done that, Molly lay down once more. She was just about asleep when she heard a slight noise coming from Mycroft's room next door. The house was well-built and definitely had more thickness between the walls than modern houses, but she fancied she heard a little noise here or there. She had a suspicion that Mycroft and his wife were in there and spending some quality time together. She was pleased that Mycroft was presumably still enjoying a happy marriage with his wife and that he was not the complete workaholic he always seemed to be. Everyone needed some time to relax and unwind, and today had been a difficult day for all of them.

With those rather pleasing reflections and the flannel soothing her head, Molly was finally able to sleep.

She didn't know how long it was she had been sleeping when she awoke to feel a finger caressing her cheek and lips touching her forehead before Sherlock's voice said softly, "Time to get up for dinner, love."

She opened her eyes to see the face of the man she loved so dearly and sat up with a smile. She still felt a slight pressure in her head but the headache was almost completely gone, fortunately.

"You look better," he observed. "Were you able to get some, uh, uninterrupted sleep?"

Molly gave him a look. "Are you referring to what I think you are referring? Because if you are, these walls are pretty thick and I didn't hear much, so yes I was able to sleep, and I do feel much better as well."

Sherlock smirked. "I must admit, it is nice to know that my brother and his wife still enjoy a healthy relationship at their advanced ages."

Molly laughed. "We will be there soon enough, Sherlock. In another few years who knows what kind of shape our bodies will be in to keep enjoying one another as frequently as we do now."

He sat beside her. "Despite having four children, I am still satisfied that we maintain an above average level of intimacy."

Molly gave him an impish look. "Do you think we've caught up with the rest of the population after being such late starters?"

He gave her a sultry look and leaned in a little closer. "I sincerely doubt it, seeing as I was more than twenty years behind the average curve of initiation into sexual activity and have only had ten years in which to try and catch up. Fair warning, however, I intend to exceed the average number of times a person makes love in a lifetime."

Molly giggled, then sobered. "So, um, you are feeling okay then?"

"If you are asking whether I will wish to have my way with you later tonight, despite having just laid my father to rest, the answer is yes. I feel we have reached closure and can now attempt a new normal. I know there will continue to be moments of sorrow and feelings of loss for a long time, but that shall not inhibit my desire to be with you." He bent even closer and this time, instead of her forehead, his lips met her own in a lingering kiss that held a promise in it for later. She couldn't help regretting a little that they couldn't stay there for a while and pretend the rest of the world didn't exist.

When their lips parted, Molly said reluctantly, "Well, duty calls. I suppose Christina is already hungry as usual?"

Sherlock nodded. "You suppose correctly."

"So, did you end up playing that game of pool with Mark?" questioned Molly as she got off the bed and Sherlock stood as well.

"We did indeed, and there's something I wanted to ask you."

She gave him a curious look? "What?"

"Apparently, Mark likes to frequent a pool hall approximately once a month with some of his colleagues and I mentioned I would be interested in joining him."

Molly's brows lifted in surprise. "Oh." She knew Sherlock enjoyed the game but hadn't realised he enjoyed it that much.

Sherlock took her hand. "Would you mind if once in a while I went out in the evening to spend some time with my nephew?"

Molly rested her cheek against his upper arm. "Sweetheart, you are your own person. You don't need to ask my permission. Of course you can do that if you want."

He regarded her seriously. "Molly, I would never just do something without discussing it with you first. Marriage is a partnership, after all." Then he grinned. "Just don't tell Mark that I asked for your permission because he implied that I would do so, and I informed him that I am quite capable of making my own decisions without consulting you first."

Molly laughed at that. "My lips are sealed."

"You know," Sherlock said conversationally as they headed towards the stairs, "I should be cross with you."

Molly stopped walking, forcing him to do the same. "Whatever for?"

"Mark was having a little fun at my expense about the very correct manner in which I speak, and he alluded to the fact that I must be reading your Barbara Cartland novels. Since when does he know about such things?"

Molly sucked on her lower lip and gave him a penitent look. "It was just a comment in passing quite some time ago. I may have mentioned something about how I love the way you talk and that sometimes you seem to have picked up some of the more old-fashioned terms from my Barbara Cartland novels." She stood on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "I'm sorry if I embarrassed you, honey."

His lips quirked in amusement. "Fortunately for you, my nephew also mentioned that you had told him you love the way I speak, so I suppose I cannot be too cross. Just don't disclose to Mycroft my propensity towards reading your novels on occasion or I might have to put you over my knee and punish you." He waggled his eyebrows and Molly laughed again as they resumed walking.

"'Mmm," she responded flirtatiously, giving him a sly look from beneath her eyelashes, "I wouldn't mind you punishing me with that feather, blindfold and velvet handcuffs we keep at the bottom of my lingerie drawer for special occasions."

They were almost at the end of the passage and Molly was taken by surprise when Sherlock stopped and turned her so her back was against the wall, then pressed his body against hers suggestively. "Remind me to do that once we are back home, my little temptress." Molly couldn't help herself, her arms went around his neck as he kissed her again, quite forcefully this time, and she felt rather breathless and flushed at the end of it. There was something extremely erotic about being against a wall and having her husband's body pressing against hers that way. "You know," she said, trying to get her breath under control again; it really was remarkable, the magnetic pull Sherlock held over her even after all these years, "we had better hurry up and go downstairs or people might start to think we were enjoying ourselves the way your brother was earlier."

Sherlock's thumb stroked along her lower lip. "You have only yourself to blame for flirting with me that way."

She cocked her head to the side. "Well, we wouldn't want our marriage to get boring now, would we?"

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it. "I don't think we have anything to worry about, my love, and if you need to be convinced of it, wait until tonight."

She loved it when he kissed her hand in that gentlemanly fashion. He really had been born into the wrong era, she thought a little dreamily, then reminded herself it was just as well he hadn't, or he would not be here now with her.

When they arrived downstairs it was to find that Mycroft and Mark were sitting at the large dining table with the younger three Holmes children, apparently waiting for dinner preparations to be complete.

"You might as well go and sit down as well, honey," Molly instructed Sherlock. "I'm going to go into the kitchen and see if there's anything I can do to help."

Sherlock nodded and headed for the dining table while Molly walked into the kitchen. Violet Holmes was in there with Elizabeth and Victoria. There had been a good number of sausage rolls left after the wake which apparently had been put into the oven to re-heat. Containers of pasta salad, potato salad and coleslaw had been unsealed and the sandwich platters were uncovered.

Elizabeth was setting down plastic plates and cutlery so that everyone could just take what they wanted and then sit in the dining room with it.

Victoria, who it appeared had been helping by placing large spoons into the salads, looked up. "Are you feeling better, Mummy? Daddy said you had a headache."

Molly crossed to her daughter and kissed the top of her head. "I'm feeling much better, and thank you for being such a good helper."

Molly prepared a jug of apple and blackcurrant cordial to take to the dining room table. Her mother-in-law always had the cordial on hand, knowing it was her grandchildren's favourite.

The kettle had been put on to boil as well for coffee or tea.

Within ten minutes the sausage rolls had been sufficiently heated through and everything placed on the dining room table for people to make their selections.

Molly helped the boys get their food but everyone else helped themselves, including Christina who had to take a little bit of everything as usual and had an enormous plateful by the end of it as a result. Not surprisingly, she was able to eat all of it. Molly didn't know where she put it all.

During dinner, Victoria told Molly that Grandma had been teaching her to crochet and that she wanted to crochet lots of squares in many colours to make a blanket. Molly promised to take her daughter shopping to buy wool and crochet hooks when they got home. Christina informed Molly that she had finished her current Wishing Chair book and the boys chattered on about Daddy teaching them how to play pool properly.

Molly was glad that the earlier sadness of the day was not creating an atmosphere of continued sorrow. She knew William Holmes would not have wanted that. _In fact, _Molly thought to herself, _he's probably watching from heaven right now along with my dad and still just as proud of his children and grandchildren as when he was on earth. _That thought comforted her immensely.

Following dinner, Molly helped throw away the plastic plates and put what was still left in the fridge. It would undoubtedly be enough to supply her mother-in-law with meals for the next several days. Molly saw Mycroft and Sherlock speaking quietly together about arrangements for the following day and returning to London. She hoped that Mycroft would be able to organise things quickly for her mother-in-law to make the move to London as well. Now that she was alone, Molly new it would be much better to have her close by.

The family spent the evening doing various activities. Molly spent some time first in the sitting room watching Victoria display her new prowess with a crochet hook. Molly knew how to crochet too but had not done so for many years, and she decided that when she took Victoria out to buy some coloured wool, that she too would take up crocheting again and they could make the squares together to create a blanket. Molly was surprised when Christina asked how to crochet, and Violet Holmes, to Victoria's disappointment, showed Christina as well how to do so. Molly understood Victoria's pique.

She rested a hand of her daughter's shoulder as they watched Violet Holmes explain to her younger granddaughter how to hold a crochet hook correctly.. "Don't be upset, Tori, you know Christy only wants to learn because she likes to copy you. I suspect she will find crocheting a little dull because she much prefers more stimulating pursuits for her mind and body." Molly couldn't help smiling a little at her own words - _stimulating pursuits? _Sherlock's speech had influenced her more than she knew, she suddenly realised. Active stuff would have probably been a more generic way to say it, or even to just say Christina preferred to do more challenging things, although that might have seemed Molly was implying she considered crocheting boring as well, which was not true.

"But it isn't fair, Mummy," protested Victoria. "Grandma only told me today that I was old enough to learn and now she's showing Christy."

_Ah, sibling rivalry, _thought Molly. She wondered if she would have been like that if she had had any siblings of her own. She bent down and whispered in Victoria's ear. "You watch, your sister will get bored with it very quickly."

And indeed, that is what happened. Christina watched her grandmother demonstrate how to make a chain stitch and then create a loop. Then she explained how to twist the wool around the crochet hook, put the hook through the loop and catch up the wool on the other side before hooking yet more wool to pull through the stitches. Christina was able t pick up the concept easily enough but the repetitive nature of the task had her bored within ten minutes. Crocheting was definitely a skill that did not require a great deal of brain activity, it was really more a form of relaxation which was not something Christina was wont to do. Molly had found it something in the past that was fun to do just to occupy her time if she was watching a television programme or something and her fingers were otherwise idle.

Finally, Christina tossed down the small square she had been crocheting. "This is boring," she announced rather rudely.

"Christina," said Molly in a scolding tone, "just because it's not an activity you find interesting, does not make it boring for others."

"But it's just doing the same thing over and over," countered her daughter.

Molly indicated a lovely, colourful blanket of many crochet squares that had been sewn together which was resting over the back of the sofa in the room. "Look how beautiful it can become when you put all those squares together," she pointed out.

Victoria held up her own partially finished square. "And each square can be different." She seemed less annoyed now that she knew her sister was not really interested in the activity.

Christina shrugged. "I like to do things that simulate my brain activity," she retorted.

Molly laughed. There went Christina, not quite getting a word right again. "You mean stimulate, sweetie."

Her daughter pursed her lips, "That's what I said, Mummy, _stim_ulate my brain activity." This time she emphasised the correct syllable. "Will you play a game of chess with me instead, Mummy?"

"Of course," responded Molly readily. Victoria seemed to be quite happy with her crocheting and Molly felt at loose ends.

She went with Christina into the games room where she found Sherlock and Mark engaged in a team game of pool with the twins. Molly observed that her sons were actually doing quite well, considering they were barely tall enough to lift the pool cues high enough, but Sherlock and Mark were "helping" to steady their arms so they could use the cues correctly.

After Molly finished her chess game with Christina, which she only just managed to win by a narrow margin, that child of hers was quite the prodigy for one so young, Molly took the boys up to get their pyjamas and have their bath. Once this was accomplished she sent the boys downstairs to spend a little time with their grandmother, and it was Christina's turn.

Molly was surprised when Christina joined her in the bathroom and said, "I'm a big girl now, can't I have a shower like Victoria does?"

Molly's brows drew together. Victoria had only transitioned from a bath to a shower when she had requested it after she turned eight. Molly wondered why she was even surprised at her daughter's request. Christina always did everything earlier than Victoria had. She didn't know if it was second child syndrome or just Christina's natural competitiveness. She had even learned how to propel herself on the swing at the age of five while Victoria had been six. Interestingly enough, the boys were both able to propel themselves on the backyard swing at the age of five as well.

Molly put her hand into the water and pulled on the plug to drain the tub. "Alright, Christina. You may take a shower but I am going to stay in the bathroom in case you need me. You don't need your hair washed tonight but when you do, I will still help you wash it. How does that sound?"

Christina beamed. "That would be acceptable," she intoned in a voice that reminded Molly very much of Sherlock. Apparently he was rubbing off on his children as well, or had that always been the case and she just hadn't noticed?

As soon as the tub water had drained, Molly turned on the taps again and adjusted them so they wouldn't be too hot for Christina as her daughter undressed. Then Molly wet a flannel with some soap and pulled back the shower curtain for Christina to step inside. She handed her daughter the flannel, replaced the shower curtain and waited patiently for her daughter to wash herself.

"Don't forget to wash your whole body, not just under your arms," she instructed through the curtain.

"Mummy, I'm not a baby!" exclaimed her daughter indignantly, peeking her head around the side of the shower curtain.

Molly lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. "I'm sorry, sweetie. If I can't see what you are doing, I need to at least remind you to make sure you clean yourself properly."

Christina disappeared once again. A few minutes later Molly thought she heard a little sob coming from the other side of the curtain.

"Christy, are you okay?" she asked in concern.

"It's nothing." Another little sob sounded and Molly heard the taps being turned off. Molly picked up a towel in preparation for Christina to climb out of the tub. The curtain was pulled aside and her daughter stepped out as Molly knelt to wrap the towel around her. There was more than water on Christina's cheeks.

Molly hugged her towel-clad daughter. "What's wrong darling, did you hurt yourself?"

She began rubbing Christina down with the towel as her daughter responded, and Molly was able to see a steady stream of tears spilling down her daughter's cheeks. "It's...it's Grandpa," her daughter sobbed.

Molly felt confused. "What about Grandpa?"

"I was thinking while I was washing myself how proud Grandma and Grandpa would be when I told them I had a shower all by myself and then I remembered that Grandpa isn't here any...anymore." Her voice faded into a series of noisy sobs and Molly stopped rubbing her body to hold her daughter instead, running her hand soothingly up and down the little girl's back. The tears were causing Molly to feel the sting of them herself, tears seemed to be rather contagious.

She blinked them away and said comfortingly, "I know it's hard, darling. You have to try and think about how Grandpa is now in heaven and he can see you from there. I'm sure he is very proud of you, just as Reverend Brown said today."

Christina pulled her head back. "It hurts my heart so much, Mummy. I don't want him to be gone."

Molly kissed her daughter's forehead. "We'd all like to still have him here. There's always going to be a little piece of our hearts that is missing because he isn't here anymore. But we also have to remember that one day we will see him again in heaven." Feeling the need to comfort Christina properly, Molly slid down to the floor and cradled her daughter in her lap, holding her towel-wrapped body and rocking her gently as her daughter's sobs finally subsided into short, hiccuping gasps. "It's okay, baby," she crooned, thinking it had been quite some time since Christina had allowed her to hold her this way. Her little girl was usually so independent and definitely not one for cuddles like the other three children.

At last Christina struggled out of Molly's grasp. "I want to get into my pyjamas."

"Of course, lovey," Molly said as a knock sounded at the door.

"Everything alright in there?" came Sherlock's voice. "You've been in there for a while so I told Victoria to just go upstairs to the second floor for her shower."

"Don't tell Daddy I was crying," begged Christina quietly as she started putting on her pyjamas.

"Everything's fine, honey," Molly called back. "We'll be out in a minute." She knew Christina felt embarrassed about her meltdown. She'd just tell Sherlock quietly later what had happened.

"Okay then, I'm heading back downstairs. When you are ready, Grandma's making hot chocolate for everyone, so come down to the kitchen," came Sherlock's voice again.

"Thanks, honey," responded Molly.

She helped Christina finish getting into her pyjamas and gave her a tissue to blow her nose. Her daughter's face was a little red and blotchy and she insisted on waiting another few minutes until her nose stopped looking so red.

When they arrived in the kitchen a short time later, Molly saw that her mother-in-law had been heating up milk on the stove for the hot chocolate. Usually they just drank it using hot water and a bit of milk to cool it a little, so having it with milk was a special treat.

The hot chocolate was offered to everyone although Mycroft and Elizabeth declined it in favor of cups of tea. Victoria appeared, fresh from her shower, just as her drink had been put into a mug. The children, Mark and Mrs. Holmes sat at the table. Sherlock and Molly leaned against the counter, sipping their mugs of hot chocolate while Mycroft and Elizabeth retired to the sitting room with their tea.

"What took so long in the bathroom?" asked Sherlock in a low voice to Molly.

She looked up at him. "I'll tell you when we go up to bed."

He nodded and they sipped their drinks, watching as the children argued over the appropriate number of mini marshmallows to put in their hot chocolate. Mini marshmallows were also a rare treat. Finally they settled on three pink and three white ones each.

Later that evening, after the children had been put to bed, Molly and Sherlock headed upstairs to their room. As soon as they entered, Sherlock asked, "What was going on with our daughter tonight? I saw her eyes were a bit red when she came down after her bath. I presume something made her think of her grandpa and it caused her tears?" He sat on the bed and motioned for Molly to join him, which she did.

"You're right about her crying over her grandpa but actually she didn't have a bath, she had a shower and that's what led to her getting upset."

Sherlock's brow furrowed. "Our seven-year-old took a shower by herself? She must have been so proud of herself." He looked thoughtful. "I suppose that is what got her thinking. She would undoubtedly have wanted to share it with her grandparents."

Molly placed her hand on Sherlock's knee. "You've still got it, babe. That's exactly what happened."

He placed his hand over hers. "May I remind you, Mrs. Holmes, I am _still _the world's only consulting detective."

Molly turned her hand around to link their fingers. "Of course you are, honey, and you don't ever let me forget it," she teased. "So, tell me, what's happening tomorrow? I saw you talking with Mycroft earlier. When are we leaving to go back home? Should we get our things packed already?"

"Only ten o'clock. We can worry about that in the morning, For now, I have other, more important things on my mind."

She gave him a coquettish look. "Like what?"

"As if you didn't know," he murmured, reaching his free hand to the top button of her blouse.

"Wait," she protested, "Let me just take my hair out of the braid."

"I'll do it," he responded, his fingers pulling out the hair band and and deftly separating the strands so her hair fell in loose waves.

"Now can I finish what I started?" Sherlock asked and she answered him by pulling his head down to hers and kissing him.

He proceeded to make good on his promise from earlier in the day, and Molly was quite satisfied that their marriage was definitely not in danger of getting boring.

They enjoyed a last, lingering kiss and then Molly rested her head on Sherlock's shoulder as he lay on his back, holding her to him. Her hand splayed across his slightly damp chest and her leg hooked over his. She sighed in utter contentment and slept.

* * *

**Author's note: **Well, this journey is almost over, just one chapter to go.

I hope you have continued to enjoy the family interaction and the little scene with Christina in the chapter as well. I just love imagining all the family stuff for Sherlock and Molly and how they are bringing up their children.

Who is your favourite of my Holmes children? Do you identify with any of their personalities? Do you think I'm showing them realistically? Am I asking questions into a vacuum?

Always love to hear from my readers and time is running out for you to review while the story is still current; (if anyone ends up coming to this story later, I hope they don't think that just because a story is complete an author doesn't appreciate still getting feedback on it). As I always say, there's no time limit to when a review will lift my spirits, whether it be one of my older stories or a current one. I just like to know that my writing is still being enjoyed and will continue to be enjoyed once I say goodbye to the fandom.

How would you like to see the story conclude?


	16. And Life Goes On

**Author's note:** It seems rather fitting that I should conclude this story six months to the day after my father-in-law's passing, which makes it six months also since I began writing it, feeling that God wanted me to channel my grief into something that might help others through their own losses, whether recent ones, or ones from long ago, or even future ones. Of all my stories this one has been the one that has been the most personal one for me. I hope and pray that this story has had a positive impact on my readers and been a source of comfort to those who might be experiencing their own grief.

The process of grieving after a loss can be a long one, but I can say, six months on, that the pain does ease and the happy memories of time spent with the person who is no longer here with us begin to surface more often, rather than dwelling on the sad days surrounding that loss.

If after six months you are still having a hard time adjusting, may I suggest grief counseling? We all have different timelines for our grief process, and some people need to just take that extra step to help them get through it.

* * *

Sherlock woke to the sound of a knock on the door to the bedroom and Molly's body shifted to pull away from him.

"Daddy, Mummy, are you getting up? Grandma said to tell you breakfast is ready. Christina and I have been up for ages and Grandma helped get Noah and Scott up a little while ago."

Sherlock glanced over at the digital display of the alarm clock on Molly's bedside table. It was almost eight o'clock. He knew they wouldn't have slept so late if he hadn't found it necessary to make love with her once again during the night. Over the years, when he would wake in the middle of the night, he almost always required that activity to tire him enough so he could fall back asleep. It was rather fortuitous that Molly was always a willing participant to those nocturnal activities.

"We're getting up, Victoria," Molly called back as the door handle turned. Sherlock was glad they always remembered to lock the door. They had had a close call a few years earlier when a young Victoria had woken in the middle of the night and wandered into her parents' bedroom saying she had had a bad dream. Thankfully Sherlock and Molly had just been cuddled together following their union. Heaven only knew what would have happened if Victoria had been subjected to the sight of a few minutes earlier, even if she would not have understood what exactly was going on. On that occasion, Molly had helped Victoria crawl onto the bed and had held her, keeping her own body covered with the duvet, while Sherlock quickly slipped his boxers back on before returning his daughter to bed and soothing her with a lullaby. Since then, Sherlock and Molly had always been careful to lock the door and had told their children they must always knock on the door and wait for a response. Apparently, Victoria didn't think her parents would lock the door away from home. "Tell Grandma thanks and we'll be down in a few minutes," Molly added.

"Alright, Mummy," their daughter responded and Sherlock heard her footsteps retreating down the stairs.

Now, he sat up even as Molly hastily got out of bed. She slid on her knickers and quickly fastened her discarded bra from the night before. "Hurry up, honey. I can't believe we slept so late," she said, turning her head towards him.

Sherlock threw off the duvet and picked up his own discarded boxers. "My fault, sweetheart, for waking you up in the middle of the night."

"Sherlock, I'll never complain about that," she told him, dashing around the side of the bed to offer him a quick kiss before getting herself dressed properly. Within five minutes they were downstairs and Sherlock sniffed the air appreciatively. Pancakes this morning, apparently. He glanced towards the dining table and saw the children were all eating their pancakes, as was Mark.

Sherlock followed Molly into the kitchen and walked over to his mother who was standing before the stove and kissed her cheek. "Good morning, Mummy. Sorry we are late. You didn't need to go to the trouble of making us breakfast."

His mother turned her head and smiled at him. "I don't get to spoil you and your family very often, Sherlock. Your brother is certainly not complaining." She indicated Mycroft who was sitting at the Kitchen table with Elizabeth, his plate laden with at least three pancakes that Sherlock could see. There was sugar and a cut lemon ready for use, one half of which had obviously been squeezed onto Mycroft's pancakes. There was also Nutella on the table which he knew the children would have used, and some golden syrup that had been used by Elizabeth. Sherlock himself preferred the sugar and lemon on his own pancakes while Molly usually alternated between that or Nutella.

Molly was getting their coffee ready as Sherlock presented a plate to his mother to add a pancake to it from one pan and another from the other. She always used two frying pans to make things a little quicker when there were several people to feed.

"Do you want me to finish up so you can eat, Mummy?" Sherlock asked, carefully avoiding his wife's gaze. The last time he had offered to help Molly make pancakes he had been distracted with thoughts of his latest case and the pancakes had burned. He heard Molly's soft snort and pursed his lips. It was a bit unfair of her to laugh really. He had helped her before on the odd occasion in the kitchen with better results.

"No, dear, you and Molly eat. I know you need to get your things packed yet."

Sherlock nodded and set the plate on the table in front of Molly who had just set down their coffee cups. He soon joined her with his own pancakes.

Not surprisingly, Christina returned, asking for another pancake, and finally Mrs. Holmes was able to sit down to her own breakfast.

After breakfast and cleanup, Molly went to help the children with their packing while Sherlock took care of doing his and Molly's. By the time the limo arrived, he had taken the suitcases to the front entrance.

Many hugs and kisses were exchanged as the chauffeur carried the suitcases into the boot of the vehicle. Molly was given a bag of sandwiches to take home for their lunch. Mycroft had told Sherlock that he and Elizabeth were staying one more night and returning to London the following day, accompanied by Mark. Sherlock had been quite surprised but pleased that his brother wasn't rushing back to work immediately.

Sherlock shook his brother's hand, thanking him for the use of the limo and then went to embrace his mother one last time, engulfing her small frame in a warm hug. "Thanks for everything, Mummy. We'll see you soon, okay?"

There were tears in his mother's eyes as she nodded and responded with, "Have a safe trip back home and give me a ring when you get back."

"Will do," promised Sherlock. He was much better about keeping in touch with his parents these days than he had been years earlier. It was going to take some getting used to, knowing that he wouldn't be able to reach his father over the telephone anymore.

The children climbed into the limo, followed by Molly and himself and off they went. Within a short amount of time the children had decided it would be fun to sing some children's songs and nursery rhymes to pass the time.

"The Wheels on the Bus" came first, followed by "Mary had a Little Lamb." Then the children started singing "Ring around the Rosies" at which point Sherlock decided to make an observation once they had finished.

"Did you know that a lot of nursery rhymes have dark origins?" he asked, ignoring the look Molly was giving him. It wouldn't hurt for the children to be aware of such things. "There is a theory that the last one you sang actually

refers to the Great Plague of London in 1665."The rosie" could refer to the rash that would manifest amongst those afflicted, and there was an attempt to cover up the foul odour with posies of flowers in the pockets." He added a little more information, noting the wide-eyed looks of the children and once again ignoring Molly who was now frowning at him. "Did you know that particular plague killed nearly fifteen percent of the country's population? The ashes probably refers to the way bodies were often burned afterwards in order to contain the spread of the disease."

He continued his history lesson as Christina watched him in fascination with her mouth open and the boys looked a little bemused. Victoria was pursing her lips and looking decidedly unimpressed, much like her mother. "Incidentally, the idea of burying bodies six feet below the ground began as a reaction to the plague in another attempt to ensure the disease did not spread. Unfortunately, this was ineffective as later it was discovered the disease was not spread by contact with dead bodies, but due to infected fleas that would carry the plague from person to person."

Sherlock realised he had gone a little too far when tears welled in the eyes of the twins. Perhaps now was not the best time to be discussing dead bodies, he thought with chagrin as Molly gave him an exasperated look and reached to hug the twins who were on either side of her.

Christina on the other hand, who was on the seat beside him, had been listening in rapt fascination and she looked up at him. "Tell me more stories about nursery rhymes," she pleaded. "What about 'Mary, Mary, quite contrary'?"

"Sherlock!" said Molly in a warning tone, and he decided to not expound on the notion that that particular nursery rhyme probably dated back to the reign of Queen Mary I of England who had also been known as Bloody Mary. As a devout Catholic, she had seen to the execution of hundreds of Protestants. The silver bells and cockle shells were thought to be ancient torture devices. There was also speculation that the 'maids' referred to in the story were guillotines which were known as maidens at that time. No, Sherlock decided, perhaps it was best he just let the children be children. "Just an innocent nursery rhyme, poppet," he said smoothly, ruffling her hair.

Molly breathed an audible sigh of relief. "Why don't we sing 'Amazing Grace' instead?" she suggested. Sherlock knew she was trying to distract the children from his thoughtless comments and he felt ashamed of himself. With that in mind, he joined in the singing of the beloved hymn and decided to make a more positive comment at the end of it.

"Isn't it nice to think about the fact that once we are in heaven and have been there for ten thousand years we will have no less time than when we got there. Time will have no meaning."

Victoria looked at him then. She had been studiously avoiding his gaze since he had spoken about the nursery rhymes. "If time has no meaning in heaven, doesn't that mean Grandpa can see us now and what we will be doing later and what has already happened? I think that would be pretty amazing."

Molly smiled at that and answered before he had the chance. "I'd like to think that is exactly the case, sweetie. It's very hard for us to imagine because we look at everything by using a timeline of past, present and future. But God created time so it will be irrelevant once we are in heaven. It is definitely a concept even adults find difficult to understand."

Victoria nodded. "Is that what you think too, Daddy?"

"Yes, indeed," agreed Sherlock. "Your mother has always been the smart one where matters of faith are concerned, as she was a believer many years before I was. We are trying to give you a head start in life in offering you our own knowledge and belief about things."

"I like knowing about things from the Bible much better than about that nursery rhyme stuff," proclaimed Noah.

"Me too," chimed in Scott.

Christina folded her arms. "Well I like hearing about both," she declared. That was his daughter, contrary as ever and determined to walk to the beat of her own drum.

The rest of the journey was spent in doing more singing - some nursery rhymes and some praise songs they often sang at church, and a game of "I spy" that went on for some time. It was a relief though to finally see the familiar streets of London come into view and know they were almost home again.

Upon arrival at their house in Harringay, as soon as Sherlock opened the front door, Redbeard came to greet them, wagging his tail. Callie and Rusty lifted their heads from their favourite spot on the rug in the front room when the children entered it to immediately lavished their attentions on the animals for several minutes while Sherlock and the chauffeur brought in the suitcases. Even the normally independent Rusty consented to being held and stroked for a little while. Callie purred contentedly in Victoria's lap for a few minutes.

Molly went next door to thank the Dillingers for looking after the animals and to retrieve the spare house key while Sherlock took the suitcases upstairs.

When Molly returned inside, she told the children it was time to go upstairs and unpack so they could have lunch afterwards. While Sherlock unpacked their own suitcase, Molly collected the pile of dirty washing so she could put the first load into the machine. That was going to be a task that took all day, Sherlock reflected. Thankfully they had a separate dryer in the utility room. Even so, there would be some clothes that Molly preferred to not put in the dryer which would need to be hung outside afterwards on the washing line that was on their back terrace. At least the weather was good and the breeze would undoubtedly help in drying them properly. Sherlock recalled that Lori Lestrade had commented years ago on the fact that the washing machines and dryers in America were significantly larger than the ones she had seen in England. Some of these larger machines were now quite popular in houses big enough to accommodate them, and Sherlock had decided that the next time they needed a new washing machine or dryer, he would invest in one of them. Undoubtedly they were not particularly energy efficient but it would be much more convenient, especially with a family of six.

After lunch, Sherlock and the boys went to take Redbeard out for a walk while Victoria and Christina helped their mother hang up some of the washing Molly preferred to not be put in the dryer. When the boys began to talk about school, Sherlock suddenly realised that the new school year was fast approaching. It had been rather strange the previous year when the boys had started reception. For the first time, the house has been empty during the day rather than filled with activity as it usually was. Fortunately, the school was easily within walking distance and Sherlock and Molly usually walked together with the children when Sherlock was not on a case, only driving if the weather was particularly cold or rainy.

As soon as they returned, the boys went off to play and Sherlock went to speak with Molly who was putting another load of washing into the dryer.

"Sweetheart, we probably need to check whether the children will need new school uniforms for school. They will be going back in less than two weeks."

Molly turned on the dryer and leaned back against it, smacking a hand to her forehead. "Oh gosh, you're right. With everything that has happened, I completely forgot about that. We'll have to get them to try on their uniforms from last year and I'll go online tonight to order the next size up if necessary. Thanks for reminding me."

Sherlock shrugged. "You'll have to thank the boys for that. They are the ones who started talking about school when we were taking the dog for a walk." He rested his hands on Molly's shoulders. "Oh, and I believe I owe you an apology."

She looked up at him, brow furrowed. "What for?"

"For showing off unnecessarily in relation to those nursery rhymes and talking about how many have dark origins."

Molly laughed and slipped her arms around his waist. "Oh, that. Honey, it's okay. You're allowed to act less than perfect no ow and then. Nobody can do and say the right thing all the time. Besides, you more then made up for it with your lovely comment after we sang 'Amazing Grace' together."

"In that case, may I steal a kiss from my beloved wife while our children are otherwise occupied?" He had no idea where Victoria and Christina had disappeared off to, he just knew they were not in the vicinity right now.

"You may," said Molly, batting her eyelashes at him.

He lifted his hands to cradle the back of her head and kissed her, several lingering kisses, then pulled back, feeling the heat rise within himself that he knew could not be accommodated right now. "Much as I love having the children around, I am rather looking forward to us having more private time together once they return to school," he admitted.

Molly's hands loosened as well. "You'll probably be busy with your consultations and cases soon enough and won't even know they are at school and I'm home alone." She turned then to reach for another pile of washing, mostly socks.

Sherlock grinned as he watched her, his eyes dancing. "I never forget when you are home alone, love. Why do you think I try to schedule my consultations in the morning or head off to work on a case with John as soon as the children are at school? It's so I can be home with time to spare for more enjoyable pursuits with my wife before our offspring need to be collected from school."

Molly grinned back, reached for a crumpled sock and then frowned at him. "Sherlock, will you ever learn to unroll your socks after taking them off?"

He gave her an abashed look. Ten years and he still hardly ever remembered to do that. He was usually in too much of a hurry to get undressed and into bed with Molly so he could concentrate on much more important things like making love with her. "Probably not," he admitted truthfully.

Molly unrolled the sock and tossed it in the machine, followed by another few socks, not only his, but belonging to the children, which needed the same treatment. "You're just lucky I love you enough to overlook your sloppiness," she groused and he placed his hands on her shoulders from behind as she closed the washing machine door.

"I make up for it in other ways, don't I?" he said, massaging her shoulders and eliciting a sigh of pleasure from her.

"Definitely."

Sherlock made an exclamation then. "Oh blast it, I had better give Mummy a ring to let her know we arrived home safely."

"Already taken care of," Molly assured him. "I called her while you were walking Redbeard. I also called my mum and Martha to say we were back as well."

"Did Martha tell you how her appointment went yesterday?" Sherlock enquired and was a little gratified to see Molly give him an impressed look.

"You remembered! Yes, I asked about it and the surgeon has recommended a hip replacement. Honestly, I think it's long overdue. I still remember her telling me her hip was giving her problems fifteen years ago. The current waiting list though is really long; it can be up to four months. I don't suppose Mycroft could pull any strings in that regard?" Molly asked hopefully.

Sherlock pursed his lips. "I can ask. Not sure if he has a lot of pull within the NHS though. It's a little outside his normal sphere of influence."

"Oh well, better than nothing. If it does take four months though we may have a houseguest this Christmas."

"If That's the case, we may end up bringing her along to Sussex. Even if Mycroft lists the house on airBnB, he would definitely block out the last half of December so we can go back there and have the usual family celebration."

Molly finished adding in the washing detergent and turned the machine on before responding. "Christmas won't be the same, will it?"

Sherlock took her hand. "I know, but we will still make more happy memories and will remember the ones from years past. Thank God the house isn't to be sold. Even though Musgrave Hall was from Mummy's side of the family, the house in Sussex was purchased by my parents together so it is really the home I associate with as where I grew up. Plus, I've enjoyed every time we have visited with our expanding family. We have so many memories there, Molly."

They headed back out of the utility room and wen to get the children to try on their school uniforms.

In the end it was determined that everyone except Victoria needed new uniforms. While Molly took care of new uniforms online, Sherlock decided to be a good husband and he solicited his daughters' help to sort out what of the remaining clothes could be placed in the dryer and which needed to be hung on the line. The girls sorted their already dried clothes and took them upstairs while Sherlock took shirts and underwear belonging to the boys upstairs. His and Molly's underwear and her blouses then followed. Sherlock's shirts of course would have to be dry cleaned and he made a mental note to take them to the dry cleaner the following day. The dress Molly had worn for the funeral he would take also, and a couple suit jackets and pairs of trousers.

Once these tasks had been accomplished, Molly suggested they drive to Sainsbury's to do some shopping. Having been absent from the house for several days, they were in dire need of some food staples. Her suggestion they follow it by getting McDonald's for an early dinner was met with enthusiasm by all except Sherlock who wrinkled his nose slightly. He didn't care much for the fast food chain, but it was the only one conveniently located nearby.

"We could just go out for dinner afterwards to a restaurant instead?" he suggested hopefully.

"No, Daddy, I want McDonalds!" stated Scott and he began to chant, "McDonalds, McDonalds!" until Noah and Christina joined in as well.

"I would have preferred going to a nice restaurant, Daddy," whispered Victoria, tugging at his arm.

Sherlock looked over at Molly who was trying to suppress a smile. "Sorry," she mouthed to him and Sherlock sighed.

"I guess I've been out-voted. Another time then," he said somewhat mournfully and this time his wife did laugh.

"We'll make sure to buy you a salted caramel McFlurry." she knew too well what tempted him, and Sherlock's lips curved upwards in a smile at his wife. Molly knew exactly how to improve his mood. The McDonalds McFlurry at least was a pleasant treat even if their hamburgers left a lot to be desired, and their French fries were certainly no competition to the chips from Joe's Fish Shop that he still liked to buy when he was anywhere near Baker Street.

"I suppose that will make it more tolerable than mere greasy hamburgers," he conceded.

A short while later, Sherlock slid behind the wheel of their Land Rover Discovery as the rest of the family joined him in the car. After the boys had been born, they had needed to invest in a vehicle that could accommodate more than their previous five-seater. It had taken some time to get used to driving such a large vehicle, and parallel parking could be a right royal pain in the arse, but the convenience of not having to go back to relying on taxis for transport made it worthwhile. However, Sherlock still sometimes missed the more economical and easier-to-park Volkswagen Golf he and Molly had purchased when she had been pregnant with Christina and they had moved to their new home. 2019 had certainly been a big year of change for them, moving away from Baker Street, purchasing a car, putting on a very successful fundraising play through their church and also expanding from a family of three to four.

Once the shopping at Sainsbury's was completed and several extra unnecessary snack items had been purchased due to the children begging for this or that "special" item, Sherlock drove to McDonalds and parked in the parking lot. He didn't like using the drive-thru due to the size of their car.

The order was made and procured, McFlurries for all included as a treat. The Holmes family returned home and the treats were temporarily put in the freezer to be eaten a little later.

Afterwards, as Molly and the girls took care of taking the last of the washing off the line and out of the dryer, Sherlock decided it was time to get back to work and booted up his laptop. He had deliberately not taken it with him to Sussex, knowing that work would be the last thing on his mind.

There was a load of emails waiting for him, requests for consultations and Sherlock devoted some time to categorising them by his usual scale of interest. None of them was more than a three which was typical. The higher level cases almost always came through Greg Lestrade and NSY. He supposed he would soon contact his friend to say he was available once again to take on cases if needed. It was time to get back into the swing of things.

Having sent the children upstairs to put away the remainder of their now-clean clothes, Molly slipped into the seat next to Sherlock. "Are you sure you're ready to dive back into work?"

He stopped tapping away a response to an email and looked at her. "Life goes on, sweetheart," he told her, taking her hand. "After Mary died, I told Martha that work was the best antidote to sorrow. I know there will still be moments where I just want to wallow and miss my father, but this is the right thing for me. I want to keep making my dad proud of me."

Molly kissed his temple. "You're an unbelievably wonderful husband, father, detective, and man in general. I'm just as proud of you as your father ever was."

He turned towards her then, laptop and work temporarily forgotten, his lips capturing hers.

He only stopped kissing her when the sound of little footsteps approached. "Daddy!" exclaimed Victoria and Christina together.

Sherlock turned to his daughters, prepared to defend himself once again for his actions in kissing their mother, and to reprimand them for berating him for his undue display of affection. "What?"

Victoria's response surprised him when a smile curved her lips. "I'm glad you love Mummy so much."

"Yes." Christina linked arms with her older sister. "You may proceed."

With giggles, the girls turned around and left.

"Now, that's progress." Molly's smile was soft and Sherlock was only too pleased to follow his younger daughter's instructions by kissing her again.

The past ten days had been ones where many varying emotions were explored, and undoubtedly there would be more difficult days ahead, but he had a lot to be thankful for. Whatever the future held, his faith and his family would get him through it. He was a truly blessed man.

* * *

**Author's note:** Thanks to **Wandering Soprano** for her comments about fairytales and their dark origins that led to me writing about that via Sherlock, the poor, dear, oblivious man. Hope you found it amusing!

You will notice some references here to events from 2019. I do have a WIP that will explore things from that time which I hope I can begin publishing in a couple of months. That was the story I had planned to publish next when my plans were derailed and I put it on hiatus to write this story instead.

I know this story could have gone on for much longer, but I'm going to leave it there for now. Perhaps one day I'll take another forward peek into the lives of my beloved characters. I still have a lot of other stories I am working on (even aside from the 2019 story) that take place before this which are my priority, even as I am also working on editing one of my Victorian stories to make it an original story and prepare it for (hopefully) professional publication. If you think you might be interested in reading my work outside of Sherlolly, please send me a pm and I will keep in contact with you about my progress in that regard.

Remember to check your inbox for messages as the site no longer sends email alerts (well, it hasn't done so for two months now).

If you have found this story to be a blessing, if it has meant something to you beyond just reading for entertainment and escape, I urge you to tell me so. Knowing that my writing in this fandom is of value means a great deal to me, and I have very much appreciated hearing regularly from those of you who follow my work on a constant basis. It would be lovely to hear from a few more people who usually remain silent in their reading, even guests whi do not sign in to the site.


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